


Take me as I stand

by mintybears



Category: Original Work
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Family Drama, Fluff, Love Triangles, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nonnies Made Me Do It, Press and Tabloids, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-11-21 08:02:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18139568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintybears/pseuds/mintybears
Summary: For as long as he can remember, Mihas has looked forward to being grown up enough to be married off, with all the warmth and romance that implies. He hasn’t considered the possibility that his future husband might have an entirely different view of marriage.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely, categorically could not have written this story without the support of everyone who followed and commented on it. Thank you.
> 
> The rating will change as more chapters are added.

_The engagement is announced between His Royal Highness The Prince Loran and His Royal Highness The Prince Mihas of the Kingdom of Helosia. The marriage ceremony will take place in the Hall of Perpetual Memory two weeks from today._

Like everything else in Loran’s life, the announcement was devoid of fanfare. He’d known from the beginning that it would be this way; the Press Office had given up embellishing such releases after Syomon’s wedding, deeming them unworthy of gushing attention. Still, Loran had the distinct feeling that his upcoming nuptials, rather like him, were an afterthought for most involved. It was a good thing he was no more invested in the whole affair than his family were.  
  
“Honestly, Loran,” Eleana was entreating, “pick one. Periwinkle or harebell?”  
  
“Doesn’t matter.” Loran’s eyes remained on his phone, reading over the announcement again. “They’re both blue and have weird names.”  
  
“They might as well be neon green for all you care.”  
  
“Exactly. I don’t care.” Looking up into his sister-in-law’s irritation-flushed face, he felt a stab of guilt. “Although it’s possible that other people might,” he added repentantly.  
  
Eleana rolled her eyes. “Yes, it’s possible. Pick one.”  
  
“Er...harebell.”  
  
“Thank you. Now, about your pocket square.”  
  
Loran sighed. “I really am sorry that you got roped into this, you know.”  
  
“Hm, so am I. I could be putting my feet up, feeling the baby kick...”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“But I am aware that it wasn’t your idea.”  
  
“No, none of it was my idea.” He pulled her into an awkward hug, nervous as always about putting too much pressure on her belly. “But I’m sorry anyway.”

 

Loran threw aside the seating plan as soon as he’d convinced Eleana to abandon her review of it and go home ( _It’s only about 50 people! If there’s a mistake, they can very well shuffle their own chairs around_ ). Planning a wedding at short notice, even a small, unimportant one like his, was a nightmare and a headache trigger in one.  
  
He wondered, not for the first time, whether his father had made a mistake. Perhaps he’d heard that the engagement was to last four months but understood it as four weeks.  
  
_Don’t be ridiculous, Loran, I’m not old enough to lose my hearing or my marbles,_ he imagined his father’s displeased voice ringing in his ears. _Now, the other side, I have some doubts about._ What _he’s still doing on the throne at that age...I hope you lot don’t expect me to hold on that long._

His phone chimed with a reminder. _Meeting with king, 20 minutes_ , the screen screamed at his tired eyes.  
  
Halfway down the long corridor leading to his father’s office, he ran into Adar, who clapped him on the back and shook his hand as if he was a government minister and they were greeting each other at a state banquet. “Loran! Everything going well, I trust?”  
  
“Yes, fine.”  
  
“I’ve just been in to see His Majesty. Dreadful weather we’re having, isn’t it? Still, looking forward to it all. Must go, Juli will have my head if I’m late for her function. Bye!”  
  
Loran shook his head at his brother’s back. Although he vaguely remembered Adar being a young man, there was a part of him that denied those memories and believed that he’d been born avuncular and grey-haired. It was just as well; the people usually wanted someone steady and hardworking on the throne. That, after all, was the reason for their father’s continued popularity as a monarch.  
  
It was probably just as well the people didn’t know, or didn’t believe, that “cantankerous” and “distant” also applied.  
  
“You wanted to see me, Father?”  
  
“Sit down,” the king said, gesturing impatiently to a chair on the opposite side of his desk. “We need to discuss the wedding. Who will be your best man? Bain, I presume?”  
  
“Actually, no. Keo’s coming in on Tuesday. He’ll be ready in time.”  
  
“Keo?”  
  
“You must remember Keo, Father.”

“Yes, yes, I remember your little friend.” “Little” wasn’t how anyone else would describe Keo, but Loran knew what his father meant. “My concern is to do with his suitability. Besides, Tuesday is only three days before the ceremony. It all seems a bit last-minute.”  
  
“This marriage is a bit last-minute,” Loran replied drily. “I’ve talked to Bain and he understands. He doesn’t want to be too involved, anyway, in case Eleana - ”

One of the many phones on the desk cut him off with a shrill beep. The king made another impatient gesture, this time to dismiss him, and he walked out of the office as quickly as decorum allowed.  
  
When he checked his phone, he saw that he had a missed call and a text, both labelled _Mum._

 

_\---_

Mihas glanced at the list once more. “Right. Shall we review it again?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because we’ve already reviewed it ten times, and in the unlikely event that you’ve forgotten something, we can always buy it. I’m sure they have lots of...” Edi skimmed the list and picked something at random, “...lip ointment in Tremaros.”  
  
“Well - ”  
  
“Can we please just have a drink?”  
  
“Okay,” Mihas conceded. “Then I declare packing officially finished.”  
  
He went to the fridge and pulled out the only items that remained — two mini-bottles of sparkling wine — and passed one to Edi. She opened her bottle and raised it in his direction. “To your marriage.”  
  
“To my marriage,” he agreed, raising his bottle in turn. “And to freedom, and to new adventures.”  
  
“For both of us!”  
  
Mihas wiped his mouth and grinned. “For both of us.”

 

He couldn’t sleep after Edi had left for the night. It wasn’t surprising, he supposed — in the morning, he was to leave behind everything he’d ever known and fly across the continent to marry a man he’d never met.

Almost everything, anyhow. Like him, Edi had been enthusiastic from the beginning. “Neither of us has much to keep us here,” she’d said with a knowing smile. The fact that they were both orphans had been a running non-joke joke between them for as long as they could remember, a way of sharing the pain. “And be honest — do you really think you could cope without me?”  
  
No, he really couldn’t.  
  
As he tossed and turned, Mihas’ thoughts turned to his husband-to-be. In a rare show of what could be called insubordination, Edi had refused to provide him with a dossier on Prince Loran. “It’s too personal! You’re the one who has to marry him. You should be the one to decide what to research.”  
  
Aside from what Loran looked and sounded like (handsome with spiky black hair and very dark brown eyes, medium height and build, loud, confident), Mihas could only confirm the basics. At 24, he was a year older; he lived mostly in the shadow of his three older half-brothers; his parents had divorced when he was a baby.  
  
Then there were the unconfirmed bits splashed across various tabloids and discussion boards, where speculation was all the wilder because information was scarce. He was unenthusiastic about royal life, although he put on a good face when carrying out his duties; he hated his father and wished he could have been raised by his mother, who never seemed to live in the same country for too long; he was currently unattached, but he’d had a long string of relationships with men from all walks of life since he was 16.  
  
Mihas felt as though he ought to resent the last part, but it didn’t bother him. If anything, it excited him to think about — a youth lived without severe restrictions and the experience that came with it.  
  
He’d understood from childhood that his spouse would be chosen for him according to whatever political need the king and queen had. In this case, it was an affirmation of the diplomatic relationship between Tremaros and Helosia, which had been in place for quite some time without a recent marriage to bolster it.  
  
However, Mihas suspected that the real reason was convenience. Now that he was of a marriageable age, his grandparents had jumped at the first opportunity to get the task over with and him out of their hair.  
  
He felt no resentment over that, either. Truthfully, he couldn’t wait for his new life to begin.

 

\---

“The sun’s not even up yet,” Loran stated matter-of-factly to the figure on his doorstep. He wasn’t sure if it was a real person or not.  
  
“Loran?” the possible apparition said after a stretch of silence.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“May I come in, or…?”  
  
“Oh. Yeah, yeah.” Loran jumped to one side as his brain began to function again. “Galad not with you?”  
  
“No, of course not. He’s sleeping.”  
  
“I was sleeping too.”  
  
Syomon acknowledged his bad timing with a sheepish smile. “Forgive me. It’s just that this is the only spare time I have all day. Had.”  
  
“What’s going on?”  
  
“It’s Father. He asked me to speak to you.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“About certain expectations that he has for your marriage.”  
  
This was worrying. Syomon was of a retiring disposition, unlike the rest of the family — Loran had always supposed it was middle-child syndrome. He didn’t tend to poke his nose into other people’s business. If he’d agreed to be an agent of the king for whatever this matter was, it was a sign that Loran would never hear the end of it if he didn’t comply.  
  
His brother was also looking down and twiddling his thumbs, which was rather strange.  
  
“And what are these expectations?”  
  
“He wants assurance that you will take it seriously, and that you will treat Prince Mihas with the courtesy appropriate to his position.”  
  
“Right.”  
  
“Which means,” Syomon paused. He still looked nervous; he couldn’t seem to meet Loran’s eyes. “Which means that he expects you to treat this as a real marriage.”  
  
“As opposed to a fake marriage?”  
  
“You know perfectly well what I mean.”  
  
Loran groaned. Now he understood the nerves and — yes, he could see it — the embarrassment. He and Syomon didn’t have the kind of relationship where they were comfortable discussing personal matters.  
  
Bain would have fared better at this, at least in the execution if not the result, but he was busy.  
  
“If Father wants some sort of pledge from me to that effect, I won’t give it.”  
  
“Loran.”  
  
“I won’t. It’s an old-fashioned, ridiculous idea. I mean, the marriage itself is, but there are reasons for it. I get that. I’ve always been ready to go through with it. But this idea that we’re each supposed to meet a stranger and - and be with them and magically be happy, it’s _absurd._ ”  
  
“Loran,” Syomon said again, voice as sharp as Loran had ever heard it, “I understand your position, but I would ask you to have more respect for my marriage. And Adar’s.”  
  
“You got lucky. Adar has an open marriage.”

“Open. Not sham. We’ve done our duty from the beginning.”  
  
“Times have changed since you got married.”  
  
“It was only ten years ago.”  
  
“Twelve. Anyway, he’ll agree with me.”  
  
”What makes you think so?”  
  
Loran glared at his brother, who seemed to be choosing to be difficult by asking a stupid question. “Of course he’ll agree. He’s my age. Younger, in fact. I doubt he likes the idea of ‘doing his duty’, as you call it, any more than I do.”  
  
“How much do you actually know about him?”  
  
“Not much. I mean, not much is available. He’s practically a recluse, apparently, because his grandparents are a bit…anyway, I can get to know him afterwards. It’ll be fine.”  
  
“I suggest you try and find out more if at all possible.” Syomon sighed and straightened up. “I should go.”  
  
“What will you tell Father?”  
  
“I’ll think about it. Maybe he’ll forget.” They shared a wry smile; they both knew he wouldn’t forget. “Have a good day.”  
  
After the door closed behind Syomon, Loran pulled up the thin folder that he’d been adding information to when he thought of it.  
  
Mihas wasn’t bad-looking in the few official portraits that existed, although Loran had to wonder if his fairness had anything to do with being sheltered in a daylight-poor castle. He’d never made an official appearance in his own right, so there was no video footage, no tabloid photos in which he was the focus. All indications were that he’d received training for a public role but not been given the chance to use it.  
  
On his way back to bed, Loran stopped in the doorway of Mihas’ future bedroom for a moment, surveying the pristine new furniture.  
  
“Won’t he want to pick out his own furniture? Or at least arrange it himself?” he’d asked the steward in charge of setting up the room.  
  
“No time, Your Highness,” had been the curt reply. “Unless you’re proposing that he sleep on the sofa for the first week.”  
  
_What a lovely way to start a marriage._ _  
_  
It was just another rite of passage for a prince, like a naming or a coming-of-age ceremony. Only rarely were exceptions made; Bain’s had been the first in something like 150 years. But to push for more than a friendly partnership? It would be absurd, as he’d told Syomon. No, it would be barbaric. Mihas was already giving up so much. He didn’t need anyone badgering him into bedding a stranger as well.

 

\---

The 10-hour flight was blessedly full of sleep for Mihas. Using up all his remaining strength to remain upright for goodbyes (from several of his aunts, uncles, and cousins) and admonitions (from his grandparents and a couple of his former tutors) meant that he’d collapsed into his seat and started snoring within two seconds.  
  
“Without even securing your seatbelt.” Edi shook her head at him. “What the hell did you stay up all night for?”  
  
Mihas yawned. “I didn’t mean to. I just had a lot to think about.”  
  
“Well, think about freshening up a bit before we land.”  
  
Luckily, they weren’t meeting Loran at the airport. After a quick shower, Mihas took time to survey his new home through the windows of the jet. He would have time enough to collect himself on the way to the palace.  
  
He was aware that Tremaros had a temperate climate, but after the cold mountain fortress he’d called home for 23 years, it looked like a tropical dreamscape: the sun shining on the azure ocean and golden sand, lush green trees surrounding residential blocks. He could see the sprawling red sandstone of the palace further away, also surrounded by green. It all made him think of his treasured holiday snaps, the only evidence that he’d travelled outside Helosia with his parents when they were still alive. The images of his baby self on a beach, his eyes shielded by ridiculous sunburst-shaped sunglasses, had always seemed surreal to him, as though he simply didn’t belong in a place like that. Yet here he was.  
  
Edi thrust a tablet at him as soon as they were seated in the car. “Today’s timetable. We’re to go straight to your new quarters — in the South Wing, as it says here — and meet His Highness. Then an early dinner while I supervise the move-in. Then I’ll have to leave you and find my own apartment.”  
  
“Okay.”

“You probably didn’t hear anything I just said, but it’s all right. Just remember to wake up when we get there.”  
  
“No, no, I was listening,” Mihas protested. “Meeting, dinner, move, goodbye.”  
  
“Fair enough. Now go back to whatever you were daydreaming about.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Mihas closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the headrest. This time ten days from now, he would be married, no longer alone.  
  
He’d never been truly alone, of course. It would have been unfair to Edi to say that, for one, and members of his large extended family actually did care about him to various degrees. If he was being charitable, he might even say that the king and queen cared too much. However, he had no firsthand experience of being with someone. He’d read and watched and absorbed plenty about what it involved — sharing living space, sharing a bed, the security of someone to come home to. He didn’t know what it was like, not really, but it sounded infinitely less lonely than he’d felt all his life.

He wasn’t foolish enough to expect love at first sight, but some sort of a connection, a spark — surely that would be enough. He’d seen plenty of arranged marriages become loving, solid unions based on less, and many of those cases had begun with both parties as inexperienced as he was. Loran, at least from what was known and gossiped about, knew something about intimate relationships, and Mihas was happy to let him take initiative.  
  
He was aware that it was extremely silly, his long-held secret fantasy of a dashing husband who’d know exactly how to slake his thirst for a lover’s touch. All the same, he couldn’t help dreaming.

 

The apartment was in the southern wing of the palace, at the very end of a corridor that seemed to stretch for a hundred miles. It was a long, dull walk. For all that the sunlight coming through the windows was gorgeous, it wasn’t exactly put to good use illuminating the many miffed-looking portraits that lined the walls.

“Look.” Edi pointed to a set of black double doors. “Here we are, finally.”  
  
“Finally,” Mihas agreed. “I was getting tired of those pictures.”  
  
Edi pressed a button to the right of the doors. After a few seconds, one swung slowly inward to reveal Prince Loran himself.  
  
_You’re even better-looking in person_ immediately flashed through Mihas’ mind, but he had sense enough to say hello and hold out his hand instead.  
  
Loran’s reaction was surprising: he remained silent, mouth slightly open and eyes boring into Mihas’ face.  
  
Mihas began to get the horrible feeling that he’d said the first thing after all. “Er,” he ventured.  
  
His voice seemed to wake Loran from whatever trance he was in. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “Of course. Yes. Welcome.”  
  
“Edi Vemet, Your Highness.” Edi, as always, could be counted on to salvage an awkward situation. She stepped forward and bowed. “Private secretary to Prince Mihas.”  
  
“Yes, yes.” Obviously relieved, Loran shook her hand. Mihas discreetly dropped his to his side. “Please, come in.”  
  
The door opened onto a sitting room. Mihas recognised the other occupant straight away: Rea, Duchess of Thephes, former Queen Consort and Loran’s mother. Her hair was grey now, but otherwise she looked just as young and beautiful as she’d done in the photos next to the tabloid headlines. _ACRIMONIOUS DIVORCE. AFFAIR ALLEGATIONS. ROYAL WRONGED._

“Your Highness,” she said, clasping his hand warmly, and he shook off the memory of those sordid articles. They were hardly relevant now.  
  
“Please, call me Mihas.” He and Edi bowed in turn, receiving a dazzling smile for their pains.  
  
“It’s lovely to meet you both. Edi, was it? I’m sorry to be such a bother, but could I borrow you for just a few minutes? It’s only that…”  
  
Mihas found himself blinking at the speed with which Edi was whisked away to the kitchen, leaving him alone with Loran. He thought he understood; the Duchess didn’t wish to get in the way of her son’s first meeting with his future husband. It was considerate of her.  
  
Loran shrugged and smiled. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he said in that confident, disarming voice he used in interviews. “I’m not usually so preoccupied.”  
  
“There’s no need to apologise, Your Highness.” Mihas looked his fill of him under the guise of polite interest. His eyes shone more brightly than ever captured on camera, and for a fleeting moment, Mihas imagined gazing into them up close, much closer than they were standing now.  
  
“Call me Loran. Come with me, I’ll show you around.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
The apartment, at least what Mihas saw of it, was thankfully free of portraits. They walked by a guest bedroom first — he could see the Duchess’ suitcases in it — and past a small library before they turned left onto a short passageway. At the end of it was a room furnished with a high bed, a desk, and an armchair.

“And this is your bedroom.”  
  
Mihas thought for a second that he had misheard, but there was no mistaking it; everything was brand-new and unlived-in. This was _his_ room, not theirs.  
  
It wasn’t the end of the world. Keeping separate bedrooms, though an old-fashioned custom and not his preference, wasn’t unheard of among royalty and nobility, nor was it necessarily representative of the marital relationship. He smiled blandly at Loran and nodded. “I see.”

“I’m sorry,” Loran said abruptly.  
  
“For what?”  
  
“This.” He gestured to the furniture and the nondescript white walls. “All of this was organised without any input from you.”  
  
_Oh._ Mihas felt oddly disappointed at the answer even though he wasn’t sure what else he’d been expecting. “Don’t be. It looks fine.”  
  
“Are you sure? If you want to move anything before your bags arrive, I’d be happy to help.” Loran looked anxious, as if he was afraid Mihas would break off the engagement because he didn’t like the room. Mihas couldn’t think why.

 

\---

What puzzled Loran the most was that Mihas was so _cheerful._ Chipper, even, considering everything.  
  
“All it means is that he’s less cynical than you. It’s not exactly difficult.”  
  
“Ha ha. You should try being dropped into a new country at a few weeks’ notice to marry a stranger. See if you can put on such a brave face.”  
  
“It might not be a face. You could stand to learn a few things from him. How not to be so miserable all the time, for example.”  
  
It was only a bit of teasing, Loran knew, but he wasn’t in the mood. “Shut up.”  
  
“You see? Miserable.” Bain’s doorbell chimed behind him. “That’ll be the courier. I’ve got to go.”  
  
“Oh, right. Good luck with everything.”  
  
Loran gathered up his phone and tablet and lumbered out to the dining room to join Mihas. When he got there, he took a moment, just a few breaths’ worth of time, to enjoy the sight of Mihas’ bent head gleaming like pure gold in the sunlight.  
  
Of all the things he’d expected of his intended, the power to make his heart beat faster and louder just by being in his sight wasn’t one of them.  
  
“Good morning,” he said once the hammering had subsided.  
  
Mihas looked up at him with those ocean-blue eyes, and it started up again. “Morning. Are you ready?”  
  
Ignoring his quickened pulse, Loran held up the tablet in answer and went to sit down opposite Mihas. “This is the official list of suggestions. Possible new patronages first, then my existing ones,” he explained, turning it on to reveal a document. “They should keep us both busy. You don’t need to take on all of these right away, but...”  
  
“May I ask what this one is?” Mihas was pointing to one of the top items. “The ‘Star of Hope Foundation’?”  
  
Loran paused. He’d questioned the advisability of including that one, and as usual had his concerns waved away.  
  
“They’re a charity for bereaved children. They provide counselling and hold events, and…I did think it might be too much. Too close to home, if you will. My brothers have been reluctant for that reason.”  
  
“No, no, it’s perfect.” Mihas leaned in closer and brought up the charity’s mission statement with a tap of his finger. “That’s actually how I met Edi.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yes, when we were very young. Grandmother got it into her head one day that going to an event might do me good. She, er, decided it shouldn’t happen again, but Edi ended up sort of sticking around. I was inconsolable whenever she left my sight, or so I’ve been told.”  
  
“I see.”

Mihas straightened up and suddenly adopted a more formal demeanour. “I can’t thank you enough for arranging everything with her job. I would have hated to leave her behind. It’s a wonderful opportunity for her as well.”  
  
“I was happy to do it.”  
  
It was just a polite, canned answer; in reality, it had all been arranged by his father’s liaisons, and he’d given his assent without much thought. He really didn’t deserve the smile he got in response.

 

Keo’s arrival felt as though it marked the end of something. It coincided with a noticeable slowing down of the planning and socialising with which the apartment had been buzzing; even the Duchess had promised not to entertain any more visitors for the remainder of her stay. For the first time in a week, Loran could properly breathe.  
  
“So, what do you think?” he asked, craning his neck to look at Keo’s face as they walked down the corridor. “Is he good enough for me?”  
  
He was joking. When Keo had been introduced to Mihas, he’d done a shorter version of Loran’s idiotic stare.

“You mean are you good enough for him.”

“Very funny.”  
  
“Unless he’s an ogre underneath.”  
  
The idea made Loran laugh. “No, he’s not an ogre at all. I think we’ll get on.”  
  
“‘Get on’,” Keo repeated. “Is that all?” At Loran’s raised eyebrows, he threw up his hands. “You know what I mean.”  
  
“That’s all,” Loran said firmly. “It’s a political thing, you know that. I won’t be shackled to him, and he certainly won’t be shackled to me.”  
  
“Hmm.”  
  
Instead of asking more questions as Loran expected him to, Keo fell silent. Loran found it odd, but he didn’t mind. Opportunities to exist in comfortable silence with someone had been thin on the ground lately.  
  
His thoughts turned to Mihas, who he’d left buried in phone calls. His family were not fond of leaving him alone when they could give advice in the guise of well-wishes instead. Yet he had told Loran that he wasn’t particularly close to any of them. It was similar to how Adar was with him, Loran supposed, except multiplied by fifty. He couldn’t fathom how Mihas managed to keep his sanity.  
  
Perhaps Bain was right that he could learn a few things. They were in the same boat, both trying to make the best of a less-than-ideal situation, but Mihas simply seemed to be better at it.

 

\---

The ceremony went by too quickly. Mihas went into it with sentimental notions of committing each moment to memory, but he was just nervous enough to retain flashes of it, no more — stating intentions, drinking from the same cup, a declaration, and done. He was married.  
  
Loran was pleasantly neutral before, throughout, and after, apparently being immune to nerves. “Well, that wasn’t too bad,” he commented as they walked the short path from the Hall of Perpetual Memory back to the palace.  
  
Mihas wasn’t sure whether their shoulders and arms rubbing together was intentional. Regardless, the warmth made him smile. “Thank you for keeping everything simple. I’m not much for long, elaborate affairs.”  
  
“Neither am I. Oh, watch your step, just there - ”  
  
Loran took his hand briefly to guide him across the threshold, and he inhaled sharply, suddenly remembering the little thrill he’d felt when their hands had touched on the shared cup.  
  
Not five minutes after they’d sat down to dinner, Bain left the room, pulling Teira and her teddy bear with one hand and clutching his phone with the other. He clearly hadn’t intended to make a scene, but confusion and then loud speculation took hold nonetheless, and soon Mihas was having trouble deciphering what anyone was saying.  
  
Keo leaned in close. “Well, I think you’ve lost this crowd!” he joked, enunciating each word. “Look, Loran, even your mum and dad are talking.”  
  
Mihas turned and saw that Loran’s parents were indeed speaking politely to each other, albeit with their chairs feet apart. From what he’d found out, they maintained a civil relationship as long as they didn’t have to be in the same place too often; it had been five years since she’d last visited. Loran smiled and said something that might have been “Will wonders never cease”.

From Mihas’ other side, Edi laughed and nudged him. “Not quite what you pictured, is it?” she said into his ear.  
  
It wasn’t, but Mihas had sat through too many hectic wedding banquets — twenty-two, by his count — to be bothered, especially when he had a quiet evening to look forward to. The Duchess had vacated the apartment that morning, and Edi had promised not to set foot in it for the next few days.  
  
There would be plenty of time after the festivities to be the centre of attention. With that thought in mind, he turned to Loran, only to see his husband still gazing at his parents, evidently lost in thought. Instead, he locked eyes with Keo, who raised his wine glass toward him and didn’t look away once until it was empty.  
  
Much to his bemusement, he felt a blush creeping up his cheeks and neck.

 

The moment with Keo remained on Mihas’ mind for the rest of the banquet, long after the former was waylaid by an old school friend of his and Loran’s and gave up on returning to the table. There was only one explanation Mihas could come up with, but it was ludicrous and he didn’t want to entertain it. For one thing, it would mean that Keo had been displaying awful, boundary-crossing behaviour while sat right next to his friend. Mihas didn’t want to believe it of him.

He was glad for once of the length of the South Corridor. Travelling it with Loran helped him put his confusion to one side and concentrate on the fact that he’d entered a new, less lonely chapter of his life. He knew he was very fortunate to have been paired with someone who was easy to talk to, even when he was just commenting on the strangeness of a certain painting.  
  
“So you’ve noticed?” Loran laughed. ”That’s Mad King Kriess. He wasn’t mad, really, just eccentric — he wanted to be painted this way because it was more fun than sitting stiffly on a throne. See how much brighter the colours are than in the others? All his portraits are like that.”  
  
“Imagine being the painter and getting the commission for this one.”  
  
“‘Please depict my oiled chest in all its glory. I would like my descendants to remember me by it.’” Loran’s phone beeped with a text. He glanced down, then looked up with elation on his face. “Ah, Eleana’s had the baby! Look.”  
  
Mihas looked at the picture of the red-faced, crying newborn being watched over by his fascinated older sister. It was accompanied by _It’s a boy! No name yet._ “He’s beautiful.”  
  
“Yes, he is. I’ll tell them congratulations from both of us,” Loran said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. _Both of us_ — it had a nice ring to it.  
  
Once they were inside their quarters, they flopped onto the sofa. It felt odd being even a few feet apart after having sat or stood close for so many hours.  
  
“I hope you’ve had a good time today,” Loran said quietly, hands clasped on his thighs. “Even if there were disruptions.”  
  
“It was always a possibility.”  
  
“True. Listen, um…could we discuss something before we turn in?”  
  
Mihas tilted his head in confusion. _Discuss_ sounded too serious for the occasion. “Of course.”  
  
“I never want you to feel that you have to…” Loran cleared his throat. “Neither of us asked for this marriage.”  
  
“I - I suppose not,” Mihas replied. He didn’t see what that had to do with anything. “It’s just the way of the world.”  
  
“Right. And we shouldn’t let it be a burden on either of us.”  
  
Mihas’ bewilderment must have been obvious on his face; Loran took his silence as permission to explain further. “I hope we’ll develop a good working relationship. In fact, I have every confidence that we will. But you don’t have to consider yourself tied down to me at all. If you ever were to see other people, I wouldn’t have a problem with it. As long as we keep each other informed, of course.”  
  
“See other people,” Mihas repeated slowly, his mouth shaping itself around each word as if by force.  
  
“Yes, if that’s something you want. I mean, you’re young, you’re - I suspect you won’t be short of offers if you’re open to them.”  
  
The casual way Loran was saying these things sent a shiver through Mihas. “And…” He had to take a few breaths before continuing. “Will you also…be open to it?”  
  
Loran shrugged. “Yes, it’s possible that I might meet someone, I suppose. But as I say, as long as we - ”  
  
“Keep each other informed.”  
  
“Precisely. It’s only fair.”  
  
Mihas didn’t know what to say other than “Yes. Fair.”  
  
Loran nodded; he was clearly relieved that the talk had gone well. “Well, I think I’ll - it’ll be nice to have the next few days to ourselves, won’t it, and have some peace and quiet for a change? Sleep well.”  
  
A brief touch on the shoulder, and he was gone, leaving Mihas alone. Again. Still.  
  
He came to realise that the reason he felt like he’d been pushed out to sea, aside from the obvious, was that Loran was being kind, just like he had been kind from the moment they’d met. Even as he sent dagger after dagger through Mihas’ hopes, he hadn’t done it to hurt him.  
  
The fact remained, however, that his husband was open to pursuing relationships with hypothetical strangers, but not with him, not even on their wedding night. He didn’t know what that said about him, other than that “you won’t be short of offers” was untrue. Loran had to be mistaken on that front — or perhaps it was a white lie.  
  
He sat there half the night, desperately trying not to let the stinging in his eyes become anything else, before he dragged himself back to his bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

One of Mihas’ bare shoulders had escaped from the cocoon of sheets he’d made for himself. Loran considered tiptoeing into the bedroom and covering it up again, only to realise seconds later what a silly idea that was for a few different reasons.

If one of the reasons was that he’d prefer to see more, not less, he barely acknowledged it to himself. Foremost in his mind was that Mihas was inured to cold and didn’t need anyone hovering over him, helping him regulate his temperature — although it was odd how tightly he was wrapped up otherwise.  
  
Loran frowned as it dawned on him what he was doing: standing in someone’s doorway and staring at their sleeping form. That was odder than any aspect of Mihas’ sleeping arrangements. Carefully, so as not to make any noise, he stepped away and made his way to the sitting room.  
  
He lay on his back on the sofa, swiping through endless perfunctory congratulations until he arrived at other messages — more pictures of his new nephew, his mother’s effusive approval. It was nice to have one parent who had emotions other than anger, even if all the pride she expressed felt a bit empty. All he’d done was get married when told to do so; he hadn’t even shouldered the labour of choosing a spouse.  
  
A text from Keo popped up. _About to take off. Sorry I couldn’t stay longer but I’ll see you soon. Congrats again._ He’d told Loran about his next destination, a remote tropical rainforest where he would be photographing obscure plant species. It wasn’t his favourite type of work, but you had to take what came your way, and who didn’t want to experience a rainforest?  
  
“Mm, I imagine Mihas wouldn’t,” Loran had said thoughtfully. “It would be such an extreme change from what he’s used to. Or maybe he’d like it for that reason. I’ll ask him.”  
  
Keo had given him a strange look. “I guess, but it’s not you who has to go there for work, unless you’ve forgotten to tell me something.”  
  
Loran brought up his calendar. He wasn’t sent on many official trips abroad, but there was one scheduled for after Keo was due to return to the country. The destination was currently blank, meaning it hadn’t been decided. He wondered if he and Mihas would be able to give their input; maybe two would be more influential than one.  
  
“Good morning.”  
  
Mihas grimaced at the way Loran shot up, startled, from the sofa. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.”  
  
“No, no. I was just - ” Loran held up his phone. He couldn’t help noticing that Mihas looked exceptionally pale and drained; he could probably use a good feeding-up. “Don’t worry about it. Shall we order breakfast?”

“Yes.”

Loran prepared tea for them after he’d put in the order. “I was just looking at my calendar. Well, our calendar,” he explained as they drank. For some reason, that made Mihas perk up for the first time. “To see whether we had any international trips scheduled.”  
  
“There’s one in a few months.”  
  
“Right, and I was thinking — there’s a finite number of options, of course, but if you have any preferences, we could try and see if they’ll take them into account this time.” Loran felt like he was rambling, but Mihas seemed content to listen for now. “Strength in numbers and all that.”  
  
“I’ll consider it,” Mihas said after a short pause, his first real smile of the day restoring some colour to his face.

 

\---

“And how’s married life treating you?”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
Edi’s eyebrows rose over the top of her tablet. “Are you sure?”  
  
Mihas considered replying with “What do you mean?” to buy himself more time, but he suspected it would be futile. Edi wouldn’t be asking unless she knew something was amiss. “Mostly. I mean, things are mostly fine, just...not quite what I expected.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
He felt an irrational surge of resentment, not at Edi but at her concerned expression. He hadn’t wanted there to be any cause for concern in the first place. “I thought it would be different, that’s all. Being married.”  
  
“Mihas...”  
  
“Different to being unmarried, that is. I mean, it is a bit different, obviously, I’d say it’s nicer on the whole, and - but - I’m really all right. Should we go over tomorrow again?”  
  
“Mihas, stop.” Edi looked alarmed now. “Tell me what’s wrong.”  
  
He closed his lips and looked away. Edi didn’t deserve to be bombarded with his thoughts on what was wrong. No one did.  
  
“I notice we’re working in here, in your bedroom,” she said cautiously. “It looks like you’ve settled in.”  
  
Mihas nodded, gaze still averted.  
  
“So these aren’t the arrangements you anticipated.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Are you - ”  
  
“No, listen,” he interrupted, putting a placating hand on her arm. “I know you’re asking because you care, and thank you, but the last thing I want to do right now is discuss this in detail or think about it too hard. Okay?”  
  
Instead of protesting as she seemed to want to, she gave him a quick smile to show that she understood. It was one of his favourite things about her — she knew when to step back. “Okay. As long as you’re not being mistreated.”  
  
That got an actual laugh out of him. “I’m not.”  
  
And therein lay the rub: he wasn’t being mistreated, nor was he exactly in a position to be miserable. He was an equal partner in a household now, not the pitiable baby of the family who couldn’t be trusted to conduct his own life. He no longer had to contend with droves of well-meaning people breathing down his neck, or the ironic, crushing solitude of being hovered over. Instead, he got to spend large portions of his day in relative peace with Loran, who was nice to look at and talk to if nothing else. Despite everything, he was finding this new life to be an improvement over his old one.  
  
It was difficult to reconcile that with all he’d struggled with over the past several days — loneliness, self-doubt, humiliation, the small spikes of hope which never lasted long.

Only after they’d finished their work and Edi had walked most of the way to the door did Mihas return to the subject. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”  
  
She turned around. “I’m sorry?”  
  
“I said there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t - I _won’t_ just say, ‘Hey, listen, I’m a sad, desperate, lonely person. Do you think you could bring yourself to have sex with me, even just the once?’”  
  
“Are you sure it has to be this way?”  
  
Mihas lifted one shoulder in a weak imitation of nonchalance. “I mean, I could find someone else to do it instead, since he’s all for it. Apparently.”  
  
Edi looked lost, like she was scrambling to find the right words to console him lest he fall apart then and there, and Mihas couldn’t blame her. Finally, she set her bag down on the floor and came over to wrap him in a hug.  
  
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not in your job description,” he said into her shoulder.  
  
“Being there for you is.”  
  
“I know. But I’ll be fine, honestly.”  
  
He waited to hear the main door close behind her before he retrieved his phone from the bed.

There was a text from Loran. What he read made him sigh: _Good luck tomorrow!_ Short, innocuous, generic.  
  
He really had to get a better handle on his resentment. First he’d secretly balked at Loran spending the afternoon and night away, even though it was entirely reasonable for him to want more time with his mother before she jetted off, because it meant that he wouldn’t be there in the early morning to see Mihas off to his first official engagement. Then he’d realised he was being childish about it all and resented himself for it. And now, because of the text, he was back to resenting the state of his marriage.  
  
It was silly of him to sulk this way when he’d just been wished good luck. He typed out a stiff _Thank you_ and considered adding to it before he gave up. He couldn’t think of anything else appropriate for their situation.

 

\---  
  
As usual, Loran saw the Duchess off with a long hug and a promise to visit soon if he could ( _Yes, of course I’ll bring Mihas, honestly, Mum_ ). He was looking forward to a quick, quiet lunch, but it wasn’t to be; an attendant accosted him as soon as he got out of his car.  
  
“His Majesty requires an audience immediately.”  
  
“What, now?”  
  
“Yes, Your Highness. I have been instructed to escort you personally.”  
  
Loran looked at the man and sighed. He looked dead on his feet. “That would be a massive waste of your time, wouldn’t it?”  
  
“Frankly, yes. But - ”

“Don’t bother. I’ll go right now, I promise. You can tell him you brought me as far as the doorstep if you wish.”  
  
The man bowed and disappeared off to the side. Loran indulged in an eye-roll at his father’s nonsense before he set off toward the office. If he was going to be berated for not “doing his duty” with Mihas or something along that line, he was better off hearing it on an empty stomach — it would help him hit back with the correct amount of anger.  
  
Once he’d closed the door behind him, the king threw a piece of paper across the desk in his direction. “Read this.”  
  
It appeared at first glance to be a short tabloid article; uppercase words like SHOCK and SCANDAL jumped out at him. “What is it?”  
  
“Read.”  
  
_Royal SCANDAL: We can reveal exclusively that Prince Mihas of Helosia, newly wed to the youngest of our princes, is in fact NOT a prince at all. The SHOCK revelation comes from a source who has been a frequent guest at the court of “Prince” Mihas’ purported grandfather, King Iles._

“What?”  
  
_Our source tells us that Mihas’ mother, the late “Princess” Zenia, was the product of an AFFAIR between Queen Etir and a family friend, whose name we cannot reveal at this time._

Puzzled, Loran read the article again, absorbing the contents. “It’s rather sparse. Has this been published?”  
  
“No.” The king sat down and crossed his arms. “I’m told this is only an initial outline. It was sent to me anonymously — out of concern for the integrity of the monarchy, the sender said.”  
  
“I doubt that. Out of a desire to spread destructive gossip, more like. You should know better than anyone that these things are usually fabrications, Father.”  
  
The king glared at him for a moment. “Usually.”  
  
“I mean, this bit — ‘whose name we cannot reveal at this time’? Please. They can’t reveal it because the person doesn’t exist.”  
  
”Fortunately, the Press Office are not as quick to dismiss it as you are. I’ve instructed them to conduct an investigation.”  
  
“Are you serious?” Loran exclaimed. “An investigation?”  
  
“First on the press side to see if this source can be identified, then further into the family. Should it turn out that I’ve been hoodwinked as to your husband’s parentage, we will have to take the appropriate measures.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“If the marriage was made under false pretences, it will be declared invalid.”  
  
Loran shivered at the finality of his father’s statement as he thought of Mihas, whose mood had been down since the wedding. He didn’t need even more stress on top of everything. “Surely none of this is necessary,” he shot back. “All based on a single claim about something that’s meant to have happened, what, 50 years ago?”  
  
“You’re very naïve if you don’t know that such secrets can be very well kept provided you employ the right people. What about that secretary of his? Are you sure there’s nothing between them?”  
  
“Edi? You’ve got to be joking.”  
  
The king slammed his hand down on the desk. “This is a serious matter, Loran, yet you are not taking it the least bit seriously. You realise he will have to be informed?”  
  
“Oh, come on. Why should we bother him with it? It’s probably all lies! Even if it’s published, the only people who’ll read it, let alone believe it, are conspiracy nuts.”  
  
“You underestimate the appetite of the public for scandal. As it can’t be avoided, I shall send someone - ”  
  
“No,” Loran interrupted. He couldn’t imagine anyone sent by the king even trying to be sensitive to Mihas’ feelings. “ _I_ ’ll tell him.”  
  
“See that you do.”  
  
Once outside the office, Loran looked down the length of the corridor leading away from it. The possible time bomb clutched in his hand, the implications — it was all too much for Mihas. For all that their marriage had been thrust upon them, Loran’s heart ached at the idea of it being erased and Mihas being sent packing back to Helosia and under the thumb of his grandparents. It was no way for an adult to live.  
  
Loran decided he would give himself until he reached the end to come up with the words, then the length of the South Corridor to come up with ways to soften the blow. It was the least he could do.

 

\---  
  
The engagement was a small affair — officially opening a new primary school in a fast-growing immigrant neighbourhood of the capital. Mihas carried it off without showing his nervousness, which wasn’t severe in any case, and everyone involved seemed content.  
  
The only snag came in the form of a boy and a girl, both aged about seven, whose job it was to accompany him and the headmistress on the tour. They peppered him with questions as they walked: “Is it nice in the palace? Can you really order any food you want? What do you do for fun there? What’s it like being married? Are you in love?”  
  
The latter two made Mihas cough into his hand before launching into a description of the parts of the palace he’d seen. Much to his relief, the children soon seemed to forget those questions.  
  
“I think it went well.” Edi was never one to waste words. “You’ve dipped your toes in — you should feel better prepared now for the next one.”  
  
“I hope so. I wonder if Loran’s back yet.”  
  
“Probably.” Edi looked like she wanted to say something more, but she pursed her lips and went back to her tablet instead.  
  
They parted at the entrance to the South Wing. Mihas walked quickly, taking care not to linger by the portrait of Mad King Kriess even though it tended to draw the eye. It was too painful to recall how happy and naïve he’d been before he’d had his expectations turned upside down.  
  
He opened the door to find Loran pacing the sitting room. He gave himself a few seconds before his presence was noticed to admire the sheen of his husband’s hair and the golden-brown glow of his skin in the sunshine; he was only human.

“Ah, hello! How did it go?”  
  
“It seems to have gone well,” he replied, adopting Edi’s professional tone for himself. “Thank you for asking. How was - ”  
  
“We need - ”  
  
“No, please, go on.”  
  
“We need to talk.”  
  
Mihas couldn’t imagine what was so pressing or why Loran was still pacing. “Is it urgent?”  
  
“I’m afraid it is. I could start by explaining first, but…here.”  
  
Loran stayed close while Mihas read. Even though they weren’t touching, it felt closer than they’d ever been — chest to chest, toe to toe, with Loran’s body positioned like a shield.  
  
It was a shame that now wasn’t the time to enjoy any of it.  
  
“I’m not going to faint, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Mihas’ voice seemed to have become someone else’s, distant-sounding yet also reverberating to the beat of his heart.  
  
Loran took a respectful step backward. “I apologise.” When Mihas didn’t respond, he continued, “This is…I don’t mean to trivialise it, but it’s unlikely that there’s any truth to it. Father’s ordered an investigation - ”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I know. It’s completely unnecessary.”  
  
“Am _I_ under investigation?”  
  
“No, no.” Loran placed a reassuring hand on his arm and didn’t remove it right away. “It’s on this ‘source’ for now. You’re a prince — people can’t just march in here and demand a DNA sample based on a piece of unverified gossip.”  
  
“I might not be a prince,” Mihas said slowly, still in that alien voice.  
  
“You most likely are, and - can we please sit down?”  
  
_You’re the one who was pacing,_ Mihas thought. He failed to notice that Loran’s hand was still on his arm as they sat.  
  
“Look, I don’t usually discuss this.” Loran looked around as if out of habit. “I’m sure you know that there were all kinds of rumours about my parents’ divorce. Allegations.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“But there was never any affair, secret illegitimate child, blackmail, whatever. They were just highly incompatible, and that is the whole truth. I know for a fact, and so does my father, that tabloids are capable of manufacturing lurid stories. He’s only bothered about this because his pride is at stake.”  
  
Despite all the questions and misgivings assaulting his mind, Mihas began to make his way out of the fog he was in. “I don’t understand. Why would someone do this? Why now? My parents are dead.”  
  
He looked very much like his father, everyone always said. In any case, most Helosians had similar physical characteristics — blond, light-eyed, pale-skinned. He couldn’t even begin to speculate on whether he or his mother might have inherited any out-of-place traits.  
  
“It could be anyone, and anything. As silly as the investigation business is, it might at least get us more answers.”  
  
“And…”  
  
“Go on.”  
  
Mihas swallowed several times before continuing. “If it is true, what will happen to me?”  
  
“I’m sure you don’t need to worry about that.“  
  
“Please. Don’t…please just tell me.”  
  
Loran looked down.  
  
Mihas looked up toward the ceiling. “The marriage will be nullified, won’t it? I’ll be sent home.”  
  
“Yes. I know that’s not ideal, but...”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Would it really be so awful?”  
  
“Pardon?” Mihas’ eyes snapped back to Loran’s face. He wasn’t sure he’d heard right.  
  
“If you were to go back, but as an independent person instead of how it was before, couldn’t it be the best of both worlds, being back in your home country and…” Loran trailed off when he saw Mihas’ expression. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. If it comes to that, you should be the one to decide what’s best.”  
  
Mihas understood. Loran was only trying to consider his needs and wants; he couldn’t ask for more than that. He would be mad to expect Loran to fight to keep him here when they’d only known each other a fortnight.  
  
_I’d like to stay_ was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t say it. That decision wasn’t up to him, not when the only thing allowing him to live in Tremaros, live with Loran, was the marriage, nothing more.

 

\---

They sat together in silence, neither of them paying much attention to time passing, until Loran’s phone rang. He declined the call without thinking and only realised what he’d done when he saw the name on the screen. “It’s Keo. That’s strange.”  
  
Mihas looked up. “Why is it strange?”  
  
“He doesn’t usually keep in contact when he’s away on a job. I wonder if something’s happened, or…”  
  
“You should call him back,” Mihas said quietly. “It might be important.”  
  
The unspoken _More important than this_ squeezed something deep inside Loran’s chest. Mihas had returned to the position he’d been in, elbows on knees and eyes fixed on the floor. He didn’t look vulnerable, exactly, but he was radiating loneliness.  
  
“He’ll text or something, I’m sure.” Loran cast about for something to distract them both, and remembered that they hadn’t touched any of the expensive wines and spirits they’d received as wedding gifts. “Would you like a drink? I think we’ve got about twenty bottles to work through, and I’d like to finish them within our lifetimes.”  
  
That at least drew a smile. “Lead the way.”  
  
They went over to the sideboard, each grabbed a bottle at random, and sat down side by side at the dining table instead of opposite each other as usual.  
  
Mihas examined the label on his with a frown. “I don’t know this language,” he admitted. “I could look it up.”  
  
“Ah, but where’s the fun in that? I can’t read mine, either.” Loran waved his around a bit. “We can work out what they are by taste.”  
  
He almost regretted saying it when Mihas laughed. Not that he wanted Mihas to be miserable, quite the opposite, but something about it — his own quickened heartbeat, perhaps — made their situation feel oddly intimate. He’d envisioned a friendly drinking session to take their minds off their problems, not...  
  
To cover his confusion, he took a gulp of his drink, only to splutter and cough as it burned his throat.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
“I’ll survive,” he choked out. “But I still don’t know what this is.”  
  
“Something that’s meant to be taken in small sips?” Mihas teased as he pushed a glass toward him. “Here, try mine. I think it’s some sort of chocolate liqueur.”  
  
They were well on their way to tipsy before Loran remembered that they should eat something. “But I don’t feel much like waiting.”  
  
“Mm, neither do I.” Mihas wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “There’s still cake in the freezer, isn’t there?”  
  
“You read my mind.”  
  
They ended up back on the sofa after their feast. Mihas sat in the same bent-over position as before, while Loran relaxed into the cushions. “We’re going to regret this tomorrow,” he slurred, watching his husband’s head dancing in his vision. It was a pleasingly formed head.  
  
Mihas looked up. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Too much - ” Loran mimed knocking back a drink.  
  
“Oh, right.”  
  
“On the other hand, we started early, so more time to sleep it off.”  
  
“True.”  
  
They gazed at each other for a moment, Loran with his head tilted to the side and Mihas with an unreadable expression. At least, it was unreadable to Loran, who was too drunk to try and decipher it. All he could tell was that it wasn’t entirely happy.  
  
“Don’t worry about the tabloid nonsense,” he said quietly. “It’ll all blow over.”  
  
“I hope so.” Mihas stood up with some difficulty, swaying slightly as he oriented himself toward the bedrooms. “Thank you. For today.”  
  
“It was my pleasure.”  
  
It might have been a trick of the light, but Loran thought he saw a little flinch.  
  
“Well...good night.”  
  
“’Night.”  
  
He watched Mihas until he went out of view, resisting the sudden, unexplainable urge to say or do something more.

 

\---

Mihas woke up far too early for his liking. He’d welcomed the post-alcohol and -cake crash in anticipation of a night of heavy sleep; looking up at the unlit ceiling of his bedroom, he couldn’t help feeling betrayed by his body, or perhaps his mind.  
  
No, it was definitely his mind. His first thought upon waking had been that he’d trudged to bed alone instead of staying longer with Loran. What would have happened, he didn’t know, but they would have enjoyed each other’s company.  
  
His second thought, which he was still mulling over, was that he didn’t know what it was like to go to bed and wake up next to someone.  
  
Loran appeared in the doorway just then, looking as tired as Mihas felt. “So you’re awake too,” he remarked in lieu of a greeting. “Horrible, isn’t it? I think I was too optimistic about sleeping it off.”  
  
For an insane moment, Mihas considered asking him if they could sleep in the same bed from now on. No expectations of anything else, of course ( _of course_ ), but they were married, after all, and wasn’t it more conventional these days for married couples to share a bed? Or at least a bedroom? Or maybe Loran could step inside now instead of hovering there, and -  
  
“Oh, there’s something I need to ask you. Keo says he’ll be back in the country sooner than he planned, something to do with dangerous weather which wasn’t properly prepared for. Do you think we could have him to stay for a few days next week while he gets things sorted?”  
  
Mihas immediately abandoned his foolish ideas. “Yes, of course. That would be fine,” he told Loran with a smile that didn’t reach beyond his lips.  
  
He didn’t add _It’s not as though we need privacy,_ although he was thinking it. There was no point in being outwardly bitter.  
  
They sat at the table in their dressing gowns, Loran reading on his tablet and Mihas answering nosy messages from his relatives using as few words as he could within the bounds of politeness, until it was time to get ready. They were both to attend a meeting of the palace staff, it being Loran’s and therefore Mihas’ turn this week.

“We won’t be asked to do much,” Loran had said when Mihas had expressed trepidation. “We’re mostly there for moral support and to listen to the occasional major concern. They don’t like us interfering in the day-to-day decisions, anyway. Even Father doesn’t say much, though I think that’s more to keep up the illusion that he’s nicer than he is.”  
  
Loran, Mihas had noticed, was neither sanguine nor reluctant about his position and the responsibilities that came with it . He didn’t seem to hate his job as gossip claimed; rather, he treated it as a series of slightly disagreeable tasks that nonetheless had to be performed to adequate standards. Mihas wanted to find out more, ask him how he really saw everything, but it wasn’t his place to intrude on what might be Loran’s private thoughts.  
  
There was also a possibility that he would hear something he didn’t want to — for example, that Loran took a similar view of their marriage. It was true, Mihas was certain of that, but he still didn’t want to hear it.

 

By the time the staff meeting paused for refreshments, Mihas’ head was spinning. He’d attended the odd meeting back home, tagging along with his grandmother or sometimes an aunt or uncle who happened to be in charge of him that day, but without needing to pay careful attention. Now he was struggling to keep up as he tried to take notes and remain awake at the same time. Loran appeared to be struggling as well, which made him feel better — not that he wanted Loran to fail, but it showed that he wasn’t the only one affected by the previous evening and the early wake-up.  
  
The Chief of Household, a stern-looking woman in her 30s whose name Mihas’ frazzled brain couldn’t recall, came over to their table and bowed. “Your Highnesses.”  
  
“Chief Lang.” Loran inclined his head a fraction. Mihas followed suit.  
  
“Thank you so much for coming. If you’ll forgive me for saying so, I can see that it wasn’t easy.”  
  
Her comment threw Mihas into a panic. Had something happened? Did she know about the tabloid scandal? He intended on telling Edi (Loran had agreed it would be best), but it wasn’t meant to go beyond that.  
  
“Is it that obvious that we’re tired?” Loran replied smoothly, and Mihas breathed again. She was joking. They were joking, and he was overwrought for no reason. “I suppose we did have a little too much fun last night.”  
  
Chief Lang gave them a small, knowing smile as she began to move on to the next table. “You’re well within your rights. Excuse me.”  
  
Before Mihas could fully comprehend what she’d just implied, Loran nudged him. “You’re doing amazingly well, you know. Most people would have given up on the notes long ago, even without a hangover.”  
  
It was such a sincere, warmly given compliment that he had to bite his lip to keep from grinning ear to ear, but he couldn’t do anything about his skin heating up and no doubt turning an embarrassing shade of pink.

 

Back in their quarters, Mihas inspected his collection of old photos as he ate lunch, knowing it was most likely a futile exercise. He wasn’t an expert in family resemblances, and he truly couldn’t say whether something about his mother‘s appearance set her apart from her brothers and sisters, or whether he himself had a feature that might have come from some mysterious ancestor on her side.

When he was finished eating, he threw his head back and stretched out his arms. He’d been sitting hunched over his tablet for too long, and his neck was getting stiff as a result.  
  
“Everything all right at home?” Loran asked, coming in from the kitchen with two cups of coffee.  
  
Mihas accepted his cup with a soft _Thank you_. “Yes. I was just looking.” He paused, wondering whether what he was doing would come across as strange. “That is, looking at family pictures to see if, well...”  
  
Loran didn’t laugh at him. “Can you? See anything, I mean.”  
  
Mihas shook his head. “I really can’t.”  
  
“I thought as much. It’s not unusual for siblings to look completely different even if they have the same parents. Just look at my brothers.“  
  
“Exactly. It’s the same with my aunts and uncles. And since it’s not a simple matter of hair colour or eye colour or...it’s impossible to tell.”  
  
When Loran fell silent, Mihas found himself saying more, letting loose the thoughts he’d had rattling around in his head. “I’ve been looking back, trying to work out if - I mean, if my grandfather had any suspicions. But he’s the same with everyone. Strict. Always expecting people to do whatever he commands.”  
  
“What about your grandmother?”  
  
“She’s a bit softer, but only a bit. They’re old, you know — they’re turning 90 this year — and they expect to be obeyed, especially if you’re under their care. No parents to act as a buffer, you see.”  
  
Mihas was grateful that he could talk freely to Loran, he was, but a nagging voice at the back of his mind asked if he was confiding too much, considering they weren’t in a real relationship. They were flatmates and colleagues at best.  
  
Almost as though he’d read Mihas’ mind, Loran led the conversation into a confidence of his own. “I know it’s not the same thing, but my father’s a bit like that.”  
  
“I’ve noticed.”  
  
“Have I told you about the time Adar caught me stealing food from the kitchens and let it slip to Father? After swearing up and down that he wouldn’t tell. I don’t think he can help it, frankly.”  
  
“No,” Mihas said with a delighted, surprised laugh. He liked it more than he could admit when Loran made him laugh. “Tell me more.”

 

\---

_Pleeeease we’re desperate_

_Mihas could come too if he wants?_

Loran laughed silently at the messages. Eleana didn’t need to plead so much; he was happy to babysit once in awhile, and he could only imagine how badly she and Bain needed some time to relax. He texted _I’ll be there at 5 :)_.

_THANK YOU!!_

“Good morning.” Mihas sounded subdued, as he’d tended to do in the mornings ever since the wedding. Loran had initially put it down to a post-event crash, but now that they’d been married a week, he was beginning to think it was something deeper, like unacknowledged homesickness. It wasn’t his place to pry, however. Mihas would tell him about it if he was comfortable doing so.  
  
“Good morning. I was just texting Eleana — I agreed to look after Kori for a few hours in the evening so they can catch up on sleep. She said you could come as well.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“Only if you want,” Loran hastened to add.  
  
“Yes, I’ll go with you.”  
  
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose, or - you know you don’t have to spend all of your free time with me.”  
  
Something flickered across Mihas’ face, which had brightened during their conversation, and left it looking slightly worse for the wear. “Yes, I’m sure.”  
  
They had an unusually quiet breakfast, then went off to their respective engagements. Mihas’ first one was a board meeting for the bereavement charity, Loran’s a regularly scheduled memorial ceremony for long-dead ancestors.

By the time they were both back in the apartment, it was time to leave again. As they walked together, Mihas looking happier and lighter than he had earlier, it dawned on Loran that they at least had these evening hours to themselves after the busy day they’d had. Suddenly, and unaccountably, he couldn’t stop smiling.  
  
Little Kori was helpful; he slept peacefully save for one or two short episodes of fussing, which Loran knew how to handle.  
  
“I’ve got a little experience from looking after Teira,” he explained when he got a chance. “I’d just finished my degree when she was born. It was a way of making myself useful, really. Otherwise, I would have spent even more time ‘contemplating my future’, by which I mean loads of drinking, and...stuff.”  
  
_And men_ , he’d been about to say, but he didn’t think Mihas would enjoy hearing it, the nature of their relationship notwithstanding. It would have been oversharing.

Mihas hesitated, then confessed, “I’ve read about it. Er, not so much you. I mean about your brother’s marriage.”  
  
“I don’t blame you,” Loran laughed. “It’s a cracking story compared to how dull most of my family’s lives are. The press love a romance, anyway.”

A perverse idea for a joke occurred to him just then. _It’s a shame I can’t get you pregnant, because that would be one way to give you more ties to the country so you could stay here…_

He gasped in horror as he realised what an incredibly stupid thing he’d just said in his head. At least, he hoped it had been confined to his head -  
  
“What is it?” Mihas didn’t look scandalised, just mildly confused, which meant Loran hadn’t said it out loud.  
  
“Hm? Oh, er, nothing.”  
  
Kori stirred and let out a little cry, saving Loran from having to explain.

 

Loran couldn’t shake the feeling that something was askew as they walked together down the dimly lit corridor, then to their respective bedrooms, the first time they’d done so since their marriage. When they paused at the entrance to Mihas’ room, he momentarily became tongue-tied — what kind of parting was appropriate for this specific situation?  
  
“Sleep well,” Mihas said very softly, leaving Loran looking silently into his eyes. He knew he ought to reply and continue on to his own room, but an unidentifiable pull was keeping him there, stood inches from Mihas.  
  
“You too,” he managed to get out.  
  
Mihas was the one to break the spell: he exhaled, gave Loran the tiniest of smiles, and turned to go, leaving Loran to wonder whether he’d just come out of a strange daydream.


	3. Chapter 3

Mihas stole a glance at Edi’s screen as she added a note to something on her checklist. To his relief, there was only one item left.  
  
“I can see you doing that, you know.”  
  
“It’s been a long meeting,” he replied, sheepish. It was his fault; they’d spent more time than necessary discussing the tabloid article (as yet unpublished) and all of his related anxieties. “What’s the last thing?”  
  
“Well, it’s actually…I got a message from someone — they worked for the deceased, apparently — asking me to notify you that Prince Ondros has died.”  
  
Mihas racked his brains, trying to remember who that was and if he ought to know him, but the name was unfamiliar. “Sorry, but who?”  
  
“I thought you might say that.” Edi pulled up what looked to be a copy of an obituary on her tablet and turned it so he could see. “Prince Ondros. He was your great-uncle — one of them.”  
  
_Ah_. It was coming back to him now. His grandfather had many younger brothers and sisters, most of them now either dead or settled abroad; he’d only heard whispers about this brother, who was said to be the black sheep. No one seemed to remember what specific dispute had driven him away from the family, but he was barely spoken of, and Mihas had never paid the matter much mind.  
  
According to the obituary, Ondros had lived in semi-exile, as far away from the capital as he could be in a small country, to the age of 80 — a decade younger than the king.  
  
“I’ll send a note of condolence.”  
  
Edi nodded. “I’ll get you the address, and...that’s us finished, finally. Drink?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah.” Mihas walked over to the fridge and took out a half-full bottle. “So, Loran and I have been sampling all the stuff from the wedding,” he called over his shoulder as he poured two glasses of the contents. “This one is - we tried to look it up. It’s made from some obscure fruit that only grows in the mountains in Vorkysia, can’t remember what it’s called, but it tastes nice.”  
  
“I hope it’s not too strong.”  
  
“No, it’s just normal wine. Surprisingly.” Vorkysians, like Helosians, were stereotyped as heavy drinkers thanks to their climate. “We’ve tested it.”  
  
Edi accepted her glass and sipped it slowly, her eyes moving between the setting sun and Mihas.  
  
“Something the matter?” he asked lightly.  
  
“Not exactly.”  
  
“Edi.”  
  
“It’s only...you’re okay, right? With everything?”  
  
Mihas wasn’t sure how to answer her. He’d avoided talking again about the issue of Loran not wanting anything to do with him romantically. While nothing had changed on that front, he was cobbling together reasonably happy days in his husband’s company, and that mostly kept him from falling into despair.  
  
“I’m not wasting away from unhappiness, if that’s you mean,” he told Edi with a cheerfulness he didn’t feel. “I can handle it.”  
  
“‘Handle it’?”  
  
“I know, I know. It’s not a ringing endorsement of...it doesn’t matter. We’re fine.”  
  
“What’s this?” Loran had come home unnoticed while they were talking. “Everything all right?”  
  
Mihas looked up at him with an easy smile. “That’s what I was saying.”  
  
“Good, good.” Loran ran a hand through his hair, raking it upward. “Keo’s just messaged me. His flight is due in tomorrow morning. I can’t be here, but I’ll send a car for him.”  
  
“I’m free until 11. I can be here to help him get settled in.”  
  
“Thank you.”

Edi was watching their conversation curiously while finishing her drink. Mihas gave her a little shrug; he appreciated her looking out for his emotional well-being, but at the same time, it was a futile venture.  
  
After Loran’s footsteps had receded, she put her down her glass and fixed her gaze on Mihas until he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “What?”  
  
“You’re going to get yourself hurt if you’re not careful.”  
  
Mihas silently counted to five before replying lest he say something he might regret. He’d been afraid that Edi would do this — cast it up to him that he was too naïve and fragile to be trusted with his own marriage. He was so, so very tired of being seen that way even by his best friend. “How can I get hurt if I have no expectations?” he asked as neutrally as he could. “We get on really well. That’s not a bad thing, seeing as I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with him.”  
  
“That’s true enough, but if you get too close...”  
  
He shook his head. “Like I said, I know nothing’s going to happen. I mean, he’s my husband. We live together and have to work together as well. What am I supposed to do, ignore him?”  
  
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying it’s a good idea to protect yourself.”  
  
“I’m aware of that.”  
  
He sat at the table for a long time after seeing Edi off, staring at the remaining wine in his glass, until Loran returning to ask about dinner pushed her words to a remote corner of his mind.  
  
After dinner, they sank back into the cushions with more of the Vorkysian wine. Only with the chime of the clock indicating bedtime did Mihas remember the argument.  
  
When he’d insisted that he knew nothing would happen, he’d been lying a little bit, both to her and to himself. Lately, during the odd ritual he and Loran had of standing inches apart at his bedroom door to exchange courteous goodnights, he’d been allowing himself a quiet few seconds to think that maybe, maybe this time, Loran would say or do something different.

But it was only a few seconds at the end of each day. Surely no one could begrudge him that.

 

It was difficult not to keep sneaking looks at the muscular, tanned limbs stretched out over the sofa. Keo had an impressive physique, impressive enough to give rise to a few unkind murmurs at the wedding about Loran being overshadowed by his best man. Mihas didn’t think that was fair. Keo’s height alone made everyone near him look insignificant; it couldn’t be helped.  
  
Mihas also remembered the moment at the banquet, the way Keo had looked at him, and sincerely wished he didn’t. He already had enough confusion to battle with.  
  
“Loran should be home sometime after lunch,” he said to fill the silence. “I’m sure you’re looking forward to seeing him. He said you didn’t get much of a chance to catch up when you were here last.”  
  
“I am. I mean, I understand why. Weddings take up so much time and energy, don’t they? You must have been exhausted by the time it was all over.”  
  
He had indeed felt exhausted — not because of the wedding itself, but no need to go into that. “Yes, I was.”  
  
“And how are you settling in?” Keo’s voice turned soft and - somehow, _caressing_ was the first word that came to mind. “It can’t be easy, leaving everything you know behind.” His upper body was leaning subtly toward Mihas, his eyes intent on -  
  
Mihas shook himself; he had to be imagining those things. Besides, he’d grown weary of explaining that actually, he’d been enthusiastic about leaving everything he knew behind. “It’s gone well so far.”  
  
The doorbell rang before he could elaborate. He excused himself quickly to go and meet Edi, thankful that he was getting out of the conversation before it went somewhere he couldn’t navigate.

 

\---

Much as Loran was enjoying Keo’s company, Mihas not being home for dinner had him feeling slightly out of sorts. It was silly, if he was honest; they hadn’t been taking their meals together for that long.  
  
“Ah, the honeymoon period.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You keep looking toward the door.” Keo inclined his own head that way. “Waiting for someone?”  
  
Loran frowned at him. “Mihas and I usually eat dinner together no matter what. It’s a weird break from routine, that’s all.”  
  
“Aww, you’ve already got a _routine_. It’s sweet.”  
  
“Well, obviously. We do live together.” Since it looked like Keo was about to make another teasing comment, Loran decided to be as clear as possible. “It’s not a ‘honeymoon’ as such, in case you were worried about intruding on anything — though I’m fairly sure you’re not.”  
  
Keo appeared to think this over for a moment, then changed course. ”Let’s have a drink, then. Is there anything left of the wedding loot?”  
  
There was plenty, but Loran sidestepped the question. “We should finish off that whisky we opened last time.”  
  
“Still in the cabinet? I’ll get it.”  
  
“Yes.” As he watched Keo going to retrieve the whisky, Loran wondered if he was being stingy. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Keo to partake in the expensive stuff, but that opening a new bottle of it with someone other than Mihas felt wrong. It had become a regular part of their interaction, a way they relaxed and had fun together, and he was reluctant to change any of that.  
  
Keo didn’t appear to have noticed the redirection. Leaning back in his chair, glass in hand, he waxed philosophical about his career and the need for a change. “I’ve always seen myself as a free spirit and all that, but look at me now — taking up valuable houseroom at yours because my job is too unreliable,” he said sardonically. “I should have just been a banker like my parents wanted.”  
  
Loran chuckled at the mental image of Keo in a suit, walking around the financial district of the capital with a briefcase. “What will you do next? Look for a stopgap?”  
  
“No, you know, that’s the thing — I don’t know if I want to do this anymore. Oh, I’m not talking about hanging up the camera,” he clarified, seeing Loran’s incredulous look. “But maybe something a bit more sedate, like a studio. I’d have go somewhere with less competition, though.”  
  
“You, sedate? Seriously? You’ll be settling down and getting married next, the way you’re going.”  
  
Keo snorted. “Says the married man.”  
  
“Come on, be fair. That wasn’t settling down, more like...complying.” Loran couldn’t help scoffing as he said it. The union he’d entered was laughably far removed from what he’d always thought marriage ought to be, all the years of instruction he’d had on his duty to the monarchy notwithstanding.  
  
Mihas didn’t return until it was nearly midnight. He looked tired and slightly flushed as he stood in the sitting room, and Loran thought again about how some days were going to be like this, with them barely seeing each other. It was a shame; they seemed to have the rapport necessary for carrying out frequent joint engagements.  
  
“It’s been a very long day for me,” Mihas told them, voice unusually quiet. “I think I’ll go straight to bed.”  
  
Loran suppressed the sudden, unasked-for disappointment that coursed through him and gave Mihas a polite smile and nod. “Good night.”  
  
Mihas murmured something that might have been _You too_. Loran watched him until he walked out of view, remembering the destination-still-undetermined official trip. It would make an interesting change, at least, spending most of their hours together.

 

\---

Mihas’ nerves only subsided after he’d ascertained that Keo wasn’t up and about in the apartment. He hadn’t been able to sleep for thinking about the previous morning’s encounter, and he needed more time to process everything before they came face to face again.  
  
His head was all the more of a mess because the attention ( _if_ it was attention) wasn’t unwelcome. Keo was an attractive man, even allowing for the possibility that Mihas’ judgement was compromised by loneliness and frustration. He hadn’t gone as far as to fantasise — yet, and his lack of experience was a stumbling block — but he’d come close a few times while tossing and turning and trying to tell himself he’d misread the signals.  
  
He was temporarily spared from further self-torture by Loran coming in to join him on the sofa. With a softly spoken greeting, he plopped down next to Mihas and leaned back.  
  
After a few seconds of him looking up at Mihas with his head cocked at an odd angle, Mihas followed suit so that their bodies were parallel, both sunken into the soft seat.

Their eyes met properly, and it felt as though order had been restored to the universe.  
  
“I hope you got some rest after the day you had yesterday. Are you still up for lunch? I could try and reschedule if you’re too tired.”

Even as Mihas’ lips curled into a smile at Loran being solicitous toward him, he inwardly recoiled from giving any hint of how his night had really been. “No, there’s no need. I’ve had enough sleep.”  
  
“That’s good.”  
  
They were having Syomon and his husband Galad to lunch, more as a concession to familial obligation than anything else. Syomon was almost fifteen years older than Loran, and their relationship was cordial, comradely at a stretch; Loran had once described him to Mihas as the less annoying of the two eldest.  
  
“Keo said he’d stay out of the way, so it’ll just be the two of us and our guests,” Loran continued, much to Mihas’ secret relief. “Would you like some coffee?”  
  
“Yes, please.”  
  
Yes, order had been restored to the universe. Getting each other coffee was another one of those little rituals they’d settled into despite having only been married for a short time, the ones that made the two of them feel like a team. The simple security of it did Mihas’ heart good, or at least kept the worst of his bitterness at bay.  
  
His good mood lasted until about halfway into lunch. He’d been observing the other three with interest, and happened to see Galad reaching down to put a hand on Syomon’s knee after the latter had said something amusing. It was a barely noticeable gesture between two quiet people, but it ignited something fierce and painful within Mihas.

If he recalled correctly, Galad was from the neighbouring principality of Lise and a nephew of its current ruling princess. He’d essentially been married off as tribute under the condition that Tremaros provide protection for Lise. Not everyone had supported the plan, and there had been some rumblings in the press prior to the marriage about whether he was of sufficient importance to marry the then-third-in-line to the throne.  
  
In other words, theirs had been a political and politicised marriage, yet their body language, the way they gently finished each other’s sentences, the small, subtle physical expressions of affection — all of those things showed that it was a very happy and genuine one, so very unlike the marriage to which Mihas had resigned himself.

 

\---

Lunch was pleasant, just as Loran had anticipated. Although he had little to do with Syomon and Galad day-to-day, they were easy enough to get on with and clearly the superior option. Subjecting Mihas, not to mention himself, to Adar’s busybodying wasn’t Loran’s idea of a good time.  
  
He told Mihas all of this as they sipped their post-lunch teas, sitting side by side again after their guests had gone. “Maybe I’m being unfair,” he reflected as he watched amusement crinkling the corners of his husband’s eyes. “He’s not bad when it comes down to it, but he’s just so...it would have been like having lunch with a less cranky version of Father, if that makes any sense.”  
  
“He must still think of you as a baby.”  
  
“Oh, he does. Mum says he tried to give her child-rearing advice — he was 17 when I was born, you know, almost grown up. You could say he hasn’t stopped, only now she’s not around to hear it and I am.”  
  
Mihas laughed and started to say something, only to be interrupted by his phone ringing. “It’s Edi. I should take this, sorry.”

He stood up at an awkward angle and put a hand on Loran’s shoulder for a second to steady himself, probably not thinking about it at all, and that brief moment of contact sent a little shiver through Loran’s body. He tried to dismiss it; it was probably a reaction to the novelty, given they rarely touched aside from their shoulders sometimes rubbing together.

It had been awhile since he’d really touched anyone.  
  
He shook that thought off as well. His last relationship had been a mess, a storm of incompatibility and under-investment on both sides, and the physical chemistry ultimately hadn’t been worth it.    
  
Before he could get too deeply into his reminiscence, such as it was, Mihas was back at his side. “Edi’s had a call from a representative of Prince Ondros.”  
  
“Who’s - ah, right, your great-uncle.”  
  
“Yes.” Mihas tapped his fingers on the table, looking slightly perturbed. “The representative requested a meeting with me — he’ll be here on business in about three weeks, apparently. I can’t imagine what it would be about.”  
  
“So what will you do?”  
  
“I suppose I’ll say yes. It’s one meeting.”  
  
“I’ll go with you,” Loran offered impulsively. “For moral support or to ensure that you don’t get murdered or whatever. I mean, if you want.”  
  
The fond little smile and nod he got in return seemed too much, in the sense that he hadn’t suggested anything extraordinary enough to make Mihas look like that at him.  
  
He remembered with a pang that they had separate engagements again that afternoon. They were both scheduled to be home in time for dinner, at least, but he couldn’t help wishing there were more hours in the day just to spend together.  
  
_You could have more hours together if you conformed to certain expectations._

He stifled that voice and the groan that was threatening to escape his throat. He found the traditional ideas about rights and claims in marriage repulsive, and yet there was no denying that he felt a pull toward his husband.  
  
“I forgot my phone.” Mihas hurried into the kitchen to find it, brushing lightly against Loran in the process. By the time Loran had re-gathered his thoughts, he’d hurried out the door.  
  
Loran had no intention of “taking what was his by right”, as a phrase that made him cringe put it, but initiating something slowly and carefully as he might in a brand-new relationship (Was that not what they had?) wasn’t a horrible idea, surely. That way, Mihas was unwilling, he could back off quickly without causing much damage. He wasn’t sure what “initiating something” would look like, exactly, but he would take some time to think about it.  
  
He conceded to himself that he might not be entirely clear-minded at the moment. That was the effect Mihas was having on him.

 

\---

“The Minister is a very busy person, Your Highness.” The aide’s tone made it obvious that he was resisting saying _unlike you_ out loud. “We have little control over these circumstances.”  
  
Mihas adjusted his expression to something he hoped seemed more optimistic. “No, absolutely. I understand. I‘m happy to wait for her.”  
  
In reality, he was going to miss dinner again and conflicted about it. He’d been looking forward to getting home (to Loran, although he was meant to be emotionally detaching himself for his own “protection”) at a reasonable hour, but even if he had managed it, it wouldn’t have been the peaceful one-on-one time he’d grown to savour. Keo was expected to be around for at least another few days.  
  
As the minutes ticked by, he leaned more and more toward the side of frustration. He was still a newlywed, even if his marriage was a sham. And even if Minister Hairad had more important matters to deal with than a possible official visit to their mutual homeland, it had not been his plan to sit alone in her office for hours.  
  
“Your Highness!” Minister Hairad materialised in front of him and was bowing before Mihas could stand and greet her properly. “Please accept my apologies for the delay.”  
  
She was greyer and more stooped than he remembered, but no less intimidating than she’d seemed in his eight-year-old eyes. “It’s no trouble at all, Minister.”  
  
He chanced a look at his phone before he stowed it away. Loran had replied to his text: _That’s a shame :(_

Detaching. He was supposed to be detaching.

 

Mihas made it home well before midnight, but as he’d expected, Loran had already gone to bed — he had a meeting at the crack of dawn the next day — leaving Keo to welcome him instead. Mihas found him at the dining table with what appeared to be the contents of a photography portfolio spread out in front of him.  
  
“Good evening.”  
  
Keo looked up and smiled. “Evening. I was just having a look through these. Would you like to...?”  
  
He let the question trail off, as if he was avoiding coming on too strong, but his eyes were still fixed on Mihas’ in a way that Mihas wasn’t used to from anyone.  
  
Keo slid a cluster of glossy photos toward him after he’d sat down. “This is where I’m thinking of heading next. Lareto. Have you ever been?”  
  
Mihas inhaled sharply. He’d seen that ocean, that perspective, thousands of times.  
  
“Yes,” he whispered, tracing a finger along the edge of one photo.  
  
“What is it?” Keo looked worried. Without being fully conscious of what he was doing, Mihas had pulled out his phone and tapped and swiped until he found the album.  
  
“Look.” He turned the screen. “I was there a long time ago.”  
  
Evidently astonished, Keo studied each of Mihas’ photos in turn, going through the album slowly until he arrived at one of Mihas at the shore with his parents.  
  
“You look so much like your father,” Keo said eventually, voice barely audible.  
  
“That’s what everyone says.”  
  
“I’m sorry, that’s not very...”  
  
“You‘re not sure what to say. I get it.” Mihas was used to people feeling awkward when presented with the fact of his loss. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean for this to - I just wanted to compare pictures. Not invite pity.”  
  
There was something a bit too admiring in Keo’s gaze. Mihas tensed, mentally preparing for a remark about how brave or strong he was, but none came. “I’m preparing to move there.”  
  
That was a surprise. “Really? To Lareto?”  
  
“Yes.” Keo straightened up and stretched his muscular arms. “It’s as good a country as any to settle down in. Well, when I say settle down, I mean plan to stay for a few years. I’m going to open a studio.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
“The paperwork will come through in a week or two, and then I’ll be off.”  
  
“I see,” Mihas said again, cautious. He didn’t think Keo was telling him all this just to chat.  
  
As he’d predicted, Keo stood up and came around to his side of the table. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the chair next to Mihas’. Mihas nodded.  
  
“So, I won’t be here for much longer.” Keo lowered his eyes to Mihas’ hands, which were folded in his lap. “And I’ve been thinking, if there’s any chance...”  
  
He was doing it again — giving Mihas space to answer as he chose — but Mihas stayed silent. He couldn’t think of anything but the most clichéd answer.  
  
Finally, Keo spoke again. “I don’t mean to offend. It’s only that I would be unhappy with myself if I didn’t ask.”  
  
“I’m married.” And there it was.  
  
“I know. I was there.”  
  
Mihas couldn’t help but laugh at that, even as the absurdity of the situation stabbed at his heart. What he’d wanted out of being married was for his life to not be absurd.  
  
“Have you spoken to Loran about this?” he asked at length.  
  
“Not exactly, but he’s told me how it is between you two.”  
  
Mihas closed his eyes for a moment. Loran had told him how it was, too, and the sting hadn’t completely gone. “I don’t need pity,” he said; it came out more sharply than he’d intended.  
  
“So you’ve said.” Keo was looking directly at him now, eyes boring into his as they’d done during the wedding banquet. “But pity’s got nothing to do with it. I think you know that.”  
  
Yes, he knew. He’d never been openly admired before, but he knew, and it was...if not outright good, then promising. If he took this leap now, he might come out the other side less lonely. He might be better able to protect himself against the desperate feelings he tried and failed to keep buried.  
  
“Will you think about it?”  
  
“I’ve thought about it.”  
  
Mihas leaned forward and pressed his lips to Keo’s, gently, testing out the feeling. His brain arrived at _This is nice_ before strong arms suddenly surrounded him and lifted him out of his chair into an embrace, and in the ensuing confusion and delight he forgot all about _nice_.

 

They weren’t in the right place for what they were doing. “We should - ” Mihas tried to say as he broke away for air, but something compelled him to cut himself off by kissing Keo again, and again, and again before he could get all the words out. He felt as though he’d lurched over a cliff and was now in a long free-fall, and he had to hold on as the air rushed around him.  
  
It was Keo who eventually brought him back to reality; he pulled back enough to take Mihas by the hand. “Come with me.”  
  
They made their way to the guest bedroom, narrowly avoiding tripping over several pieces of furniture in their haze.  
  
Once Keo had made sure the door had locked behind them, he guided Mihas to lie down on the cosy nest of sheets on the unmade bed before climbing in beside him.  
  
Mihas took a moment to just breathe and to absorb the warmth of it all. He’d never really held hands with anyone before, let alone...  
  
“What are you thinking?” Keo asked, giving him a little nudge with his forehead.  
  
In the safety of the quiet, semi-dark room, Mihas considered telling Keo everything, from the lifetime he’d spent alone and waiting to not be alone, to the hopes he’d had for his marriage, to the possibly-misdirected longing now tugging at his heart. But - “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t feel like talking.”  
  
“Understood.”  
  
Keo ended up half on top of Mihas as they kissed. Mihas revelled in the feeling of their bodies moving against one another, and of deft hands undressing him and roaming over his heated skin as it was revealed. He didn’t realise how desperately he was moving, pushing his still-clothed hips upward, until Keo laughed softly and started to toy with the button on his trousers. “Is this okay?”  
  
This was what Mihas had wanted from his wedding night, to have all of his husband’s attention on him like this. If it had gone the way he’d hoped, he probably wouldn’t be here now, and life would be so much simpler.  
  
_No. Stop it. Stop being such a child._

His words to himself were harsh, but they had to be said. It was no use dwelling on his past foolishness when there were more pleasant things to concern himself with at the moment.  
  
“Yes. It’s okay.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“Except you’re still dressed.”  
  
“Ah.” Keo looked down at his own body as if he’d been completely unaware of it. “You’re right. I forgot.”  
  
Mihas let out a little laugh and relaxed more into the mattress as Keo undressed himself and crawled up closer to him. Then he felt strong hands on his body again and immediately arched into the touch. It wasn’t enough; he felt like nothing would be enough.  
  
“You’re gorgeous,” Keo whispered on an exhale. “You’re so - ”  
  
“Please,” Mihas interrupted, not entirely cognizant of what he was saying. “I want...”  
  
Fortunately, Keo seemed to understand how he was feeling. He shifted them so they were side by side again, heads close together, and wrapped a hand around Mihas’ cock.  
  
Mihas didn’t immediately thrust into it as he’d thought he might; instead, he watched and tried to keep breathing through the sensations.  
  
“You’re very disciplined,” Keo commented teasingly.  
  
It wasn’t that. He was just glued to the sight, equal parts fascinated and intoxicated, and afraid he might miss something if he didn’t concentrate.  
  
Keo moved to kiss him again, now stroking himself with his free hand, and Mihas retained just enough presence of mind to reach out to help. They came like that, moaning into deep, clinging kisses and shuddering against each other.  
  
“What are you thinking?” Keo asked again, pressing his lips to the top of Mihas’ head as they lay listening to their slowing breaths.  
  
“Mm?”  
  
“Was it good?”  
  
Mihas raised his head from Keo’s chest, his frown a silent counter-question.  
  
“It’s not what you think,” Keo reassured him. “You weren’t...nothing was lacking. I just had a feeling.”  
  
Mihas wasn’t sure if he believed that, but he let it go. “Yeah,” he replied with a smile. “Good.”  
  
“I’m glad.”  
  
Eyes heavy with sleep, Mihas settled back down, relishing the rise and fall and the heartbeat against his ear. He’d waited so long for this, to be this close to someone, and he intended to soak up every second. He wasn’t going to have it forever.

 

\---

When Loran returned to the apartment, it was silent save for the whir of the air-conditioning system. He checked the time: half-past seven. He was probably the only one awake, but it wasn’t a problem. He knew Mihas didn’t have anything scheduled until close to noon.  
  
With that happy fact in mind, he started down the corridor to his bedroom, only to collide with Mihas a few steps in. “S - sorry,” he stuttered; it had rattled him to run into the very person who’d been consuming his thoughts, especially since hadn’t expected Mihas to come from that direction.  
  
Mihas looked rattled too, and tired — small wonder after the consecutive extended days he’d had. “You’re back from your meeting.”  
  
“What? Ah. Yes, I am. Listen, could I talk to you about something?” He might as well get to the point right away while he had the opportunity. They’d had so little time to themselves over the past few days.  
  
Mihas hesitated before answering, which made Loran wonder whether his own nervousness was coming across. “I actually have something to discuss as well. Could we...”  
  
They went to the sofa and sat down, but Mihas didn’t sink back into the cushions as usual. Whatever he had to say was probably serious, then. Loran felt compelled to sit up straighter to match his posture.  
  
“Last…no, that’s not the right way to say this.” Mihas chewed on his lower lip for a few seconds, apparently gathering his thoughts.  
  
“Is everything all right?”  
  
“Keo and I would like to be together. That is, we - we are together, and we’d like your assent.”  
  
_No_.

An invisible something slammed into Loran’s body and left him wondering why he felt temporarily paralysed with pain.  
  
_No_.

After that initial shock came understanding, slow and inexorable.  
  
Their earlier collision had happened because Mihas had come out of the guest room, Keo’s room, instead of his own.

He was wearing the same clothes he’d worn the day before.  
  
“He would have joined me for this, but he fell asleep again after we...” A streak of pink flashed across Mihas’ face, suggesting that he’d said more than he’d intended. “I thought it’d be best to tell you promptly.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
Mihas’ hair was more rumpled than it tended to be in the mornings, and the delicate skin of his neck was marked on one side.  
  
The fatigue weighing him down wasn’t just from a few nights of working late.  
  
“Thank you. For telling me, that is.”  
  
“So you’re…”  
  
“Yes,” Loran said hollowly. “It’s not really a matter of ‘assent’.”  
  
“Thank you.” Mihas finally relaxed his shoulders and leaned back. “What was your thing?”  
  
“Sorry?”  
  
“You said you wanted to talk to me about something as well.”  
  
For an awful few seconds, Loran clawed at the depths of his memory to try and remember what he’d planned to say and how he’d planned to say it. Then he remembered that it didn’t matter anymore.  
  
“I’ve forgotten,” he said with a forced shrug. ”I’m sure it wasn’t too important.”  
  
Mihas didn’t look completely convinced. “Well, if it comes back to you...”  
  
“Of course. How did your meeting with Minister Hairad go?”  
  
If the sudden change of topic was jarring, Mihas didn’t remark on it. “Other than the delay, it went well. She thinks there’s potential in the idea of us going. She herself is planning to attend even though she hasn’t been home in a decade.”  
  
Loran nodded. “I thought that might be the case. I imagine the king wants as many people there as possible.”  
  
“It is a major occasion, and I am his grandson.” Mihas paused, then amended, “I might be his grandson.”  
  
“We have no good reason to think you’re not. Whatever the outcome of that matter, he’d be offended if we didn’t at least declare our intention to go.”  
  
“You’re probably right.” Mihas gave Loran one of those glowing looks that shouldn’t make him feel weak, especially now, and the thought occurred to him that it was strange for Mihas to discuss this, travelling together and visiting his family as a married couple, as if nothing had changed.  
  
But, he reminded himself over the drum of his heartbeat, nothing _had_ changed. Their relationship was exactly the same as it had been the previous day, and Loran was the strange one for expecting Mihas to act any differently.

 

Keo dragged himself out of bed just as Mihas was leaving early for his engagement, citing a need to review some paperwork with Edi first, and sat down at the table across from Loran.  
  
“So,” Loran began.  
  
When he couldn’t find the words to continue, Keo took a deep breath. “Before you say anything...I wouldn’t have if I didn’t know how you feel about this marriage. You know that, right?”  
  
Loran nodded; he did know that. He also knew he had no grounds to object, not when he’d had no way of predicting Mihas’ reaction and had been prepared (or should have been prepared) to accept even a categorical rejection.  
  
“So we’re good, then?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Good.” Keo huffed out a short laugh, evidently relieved. “I don’t want to fall out.”  
  
“Neither do I.”  
  
He truly didn’t. For the remainder of the afternoon, Loran ignored the persistent ache in his throat and the little voice in his head insisting that Mihas wouldn’t have rejected him. He concentrated hard on temporarily forgetting and on spending time with Keo, hard enough that he even managed to enjoy dinner with both of them.  
  
It wasn’t until after dinner that it all came crashing down. Instead of settling in with Loran as he usually did, Mihas excused himself to follow Keo, presumably to one of their rooms. Only then did Loran remember what he’d wanted to say earlier.  
  
_I miss you when you’re gone. If we could find a way to be together more, maybe try not always going off in separate directions at night…_

He’d grown so used to having Mihas by his side in the evenings, and now he was being robbed of that as well — except it was ridiculous of him to see it that way. Mihas didn’t owe him his free time or his companionship, or indeed anything else. He never had.


	4. Chapter 4

All Edi said at first was “I see.”

Mihas was surprised as well as relieved. She was cool-headed by nature, but also not afraid to take him to task if she thought he was being stupid.  
  
“I mean, we’re not doing anything wrong,” he said, more to remind himself than anything. As he remembered all too well, nothing he was doing with Keo went against the rules of his marriage, but he still felt the need to be as discreet as possible when Loran was about. Although Keo agreed that they should keep things quiet and behind closed doors, he’d been a little startled by Mihas’ vehemence about it. Mihas knew his lingering sense of guilt was responsible for that.  
  
“As long as you know what you’re doing.”  
  
That sounded ever so slightly ominous. “What do you mean?”  
  
“That’s not really for me to say.” At Mihas’ frustrated expression, Edi clarified, “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be mysterious. What I mean is that you should tread carefully, as with everything else, so you don’t end up getting hurt. But I can’t decide for you what ‘carefully’ means.”  
  
He understood what she was trying to tell him, but thought it unnecessary. He was having fun, not expecting to fall in love and set up home with Keo. “It’s just a short-term thing. In another fortnight or so, he’ll be in Lareto and I’ll be here.”  
  
“You won’t try and keep it going?”  
  
“I don’t think so.”  
  
Edi nodded. “I don’t have a problem with you doing what makes you happy. Why should I? Just…take care, you know?”  
  
“I know.”  
  
It did make him happy, sharing his life (the parts of his life which weren’t entangled with Loran’s, at any rate) with someone. Even a long, tiring day ended pleasantly when he could crawl into bed late at night and get a sleepy cuddle instead of the feeling of cold sheets against his skin.  
  
He’d always sought stability and had hoped to get a solid, enduring relationship out of his marriage. Now he was coming to terms with that ideal being out of his reach, and it was actually easier on him to not be committed to anything long-term with Keo. He didn’t have to worry too much about saying or doing the wrong thing, or about his lack of experience creating situations that might be remembered less than fondly down the line.  
  
After the misgivings he’d struggled with that first night, he was learning to put them aside to give himself space to work out what he wanted out of their time together. And Keo was patient.  
  
Mihas couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something alien to him about the way Keo approached life.  
  
“It’s probably because I’ve had more freedom,” he reflected when Mihas brought up the subject as they lay in bed. “I spent a lot of time in this place growing up, but the end of the day, I could leave and not be monitored. Well, usually.”  
  
“Usually?”  
  
“One time, when we were eighteen or nineteen, there were rumours that Loran and his mum were going out to clubs together to find men to bring home, sharing a boyfriend between them, that sort of thing. He was followed for weeks, and so was I because I happened to be around.” Keo had a little laugh to himself at the memory. “The tabloids don’t tend to bother much with Loran, but you never know when they’ll strike, do you? It’s safer to be a nobody like me.”  
  
Mihas winced in sympathy, for Keo but more for Loran. He himself had lived most of his life in a restrictive environment, but at least he hadn’t been the subject of sordid rumours until recently.  
  
“Anyway, I think that’s all it is, that I don’t have all the duties and directives to deal with.”  
  
Keo was probably right, Mihas thought as he leaned in for a kiss. Neither he nor Loran had grown up with that freedom, and even if they did their best to ignore the more traditional views on princes and their roles, they were still bound by and to the palace. There was a lightness to Keo that came of being able to choose his job and partner and home without every decision being a weighty political matter.  
  
Maybe, while he was close by, Mihas could share in that lightness. He could indulge his wants for now without worrying about the impact it would have on the rest of his life.  
  
“Fuck me,” he whispered, bold as he’d ever been. “And before you ask, yes, I’m sure.”  
  
Keo grinned. “Then I won’t ask.”  
  
He had Mihas straddle him when it was time, letting Mihas control the pace and muffle his moans against Keo’s shoulder. In the absence of full voices, the noises their bodies made were clear and obscene in a way that thrilled him to the core. It made him move aggressively despite Keo’s gentle cautioning, and he was so focused on chasing more and more of that heady overwhelmed feeling that his orgasm took him by surprise; he was coming all over Keo’s chest and stomach before he could realise he was close.  
  
When he came back to himself, they were horizontal again, and Keo was dozing with an arm loosely draped over his waist. Mihas watched him for awhile, smiling, and was starting to drift off himself when sounds from outside the room jolted him back to awareness.  
  
He listened to Loran moving about the apartment, obviously having returned late from somewhere. As his footsteps approached, then receded, Mihas felt a little pang. He missed Loran at times — there was no use pretending otherwise, and it didn’t make it any less true that he was enjoying being with Keo. He only wished it didn’t have to be so complicated.

 

\---

Loran hummed as he selected a bottle, a small purple one, from the array on the sideboard. Mihas was spending the evening with him for the first time in what felt like forever.

Keo had been strong-armed into attending a family gathering. “You know how they are,” he‘d said with a sigh of resignation. “‘Your great-gran has so few years left, she’d love to see your face more than once every five years, her great-grandchildren are the lights of her life’…everyone forgets that she doesn’t actually like me. Or any of the ‘lights of her life’, come to think of it.”  
  
“Does she know you’re moving out of the country?”  
  
“Someone will have informed her by now. Don’t be surprised if I come back with bruises from her poking me with her cane.”  
  
Loran sympathised, but foremost in his thoughts was the prospect of having Mihas all to himself for a few hours. He’d missed his husband desperately, and though he knew it wasn’t completely rational, there was a growing fear in the back of his mind that their time together was limited. If there was anything to the rumours about his parentage, or even if there wasn’t, it was possible that Mihas would want to join Keo in Lareto.  
  
There would be little that Loran could do to stop it, and he’d be out of line to try, he thought as he took in the sight of Mihas waiting for him on the other side of the table. He was leaning forward on his elbows, completely relaxed and bright as he rarely had been in the first few weeks of their marriage.  
  
“I think that one’s from my Aunt Ros.”  
  
Loran checked the little handwritten note attached to the bottle. “So it is.” Ros was the eldest of Mihas’ many aunts and uncles, the heir to the Helosian throne — a stiff, no-nonsense sort of person as far as Loran knew. “Should I be worried?”  
  
“No, no. Well - ” Mihas reconsidered for a second. “Some caution wouldn’t go amiss.”  
  
“Ah.” Loran held up his glass, into which he’d poured a reasonable amount of bluish liquid. “It looks harmless enough.”  
  
It wasn’t — it burned going down and continued to burn long after he gave up on another round — but he found that he didn’t mind. There were better things to give his attention to, like exchanging work stories with Mihas and coming up with increasingly bizarre ideas for King Iles’ birthday gift.  
  
“A bird,” Loran suggested, “for him to talk to when he’s working late. I’ve long thought my father could benefit from an office bird.”  
  
“Why don’t you get him one?”  
  
“Because no living creature deserves to be stuck in an office with him.”  
  
“You could say the same of my grandfather. And besides, it would probably outlive him. I don’t think Ros would be very amused.”  
  
“A no on the bird, then.” Loran scrunched up his face, pretending to think hard. “How about...a little boat? To get him out of the castle more.”  
  
Mihas burst out laughing. “I can see his face now. ‘I’m twenty years too old for such contraptions!’ But he wouldn’t let us take it back, either. He’ll say I’m twenty years too young for it.”  
  
Loran watched as Mihas talked animatedly, beautiful even in the fading light and apparently unaffected by the amount of spirit he’d drunk, and felt contentment wash over him like the gentlest of ocean waves. He really was fortunate to have been paired with someone good despite the haste with which it had been arranged.  
  
He only wished his good fortune could last forever.  
  
They ended up standing in the kitchen together at the close of the day, Mihas leaning back against the sink and Loran facing him.  
  
“We should turn in,” Mihas said softly, almost regretfully — or was that Loran’s imagination?  
  
“Thank you for tonight.” Loran hadn’t planned on saying it out loud, but he decided to let it stand. “And sleep well.”  
  
“You too.”  
  
Their eyes met across the minuscule space between them, and as the seconds ticked by, it occurred to Loran that Mihas might straighten up and lean in to kiss him. He inhaled sharply, body tensing in anticipation of Mihas stepping into his arms, and -  
  
Mihas was turning, walking out of the room and out of sight.  
  
Loran shook himself. It had been nothing but a moment of foolishness on his part. In the pleasantness of the evening, he’d temporarily forgotten about Keo, about everything. That was all.

 

\---

For the first time in his life, Loran welcomed the visit to the Fourth War Memorial. He’d been dreading this year’s trip, the first since his marriage, and the nosy questions from his brothers he believed were inevitable. However, he was now seeing it as an opportunity to clear his head, what with the situation at home making him want to spend as much time out of it as possible.

And yet, when Bain asked teasingly whether he could cope with a night away from his new husband, he felt his mouth turn down at the corners.  
  
“If it’s any consolation, I tried my damnedest to get out of this one. You definitely wouldn’t have been able to.”  
  
“What did they say?” Loran asked, referring to their father and the relevant advisors.  
  
Bain rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. “That it would look bad. I tried to tell them that it also looks rather bad to leave Eleana alone with the kids, but they were adamant. The public love seeing the four of us together at the ceremony more than anything else in the entire cosmos, apparently.”  
  
“Hmph.” Loran looked down at the floor as they walked out of the palace. He wished his own feelings about leaving Mihas for a night were less mixed, that he was in a position to be more resistant to the idea.  
  
Once they were in the car, Adar took it upon himself to strike up a conversation. “How’s married life?”  
  
Loran paused to consider how much information to give. “It’s good,” he said eventually. “We get on. It could have been much worse, marrying a stranger.”  
  
Adar raised his eyebrows at that comment, possibly scandalised at the implicit criticism of the tradition, but he didn’t address it. “That’s what I like to hear. It’s difficult to believe sometimes — all four of us, married.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Are you  _quite_ sure everything’s good, though?”

 _Here we go._ “Yes. Why do you ask?”  
  
“No particular reason, just...”  
  
Loran felt his hackles going up. He knew Adar did care about how the marriage was going, but in much the same way that he cared about how his 10-year-old daughter’s relationship with her 10-year-old boyfriend was going. To be drawn into further discussion of it with him or anyone else was the last thing Loran wanted.  
  
“There’s nothing for you to worry about,” he said as nonchalantly as he could.  
  
Adar hesitated, then smiled to smooth things over. “I understand. As long as you put in the effort to make each other happy. That’s fundamentally what marriage should be, isn’t it, whether or not it’s between strangers?”  
  
“Right.”  
  
He wasn’t wrong. Loran still felt mutinous at the advice; he’d been following that basic principle with Mihas, and it had gotten him to a place he didn’t like.  
  
The ceremony was robustly attended as usual and went smoothly save for the black clouds crowding the sky above their heads. As they were walking back to the car, one of Adar’s aides hurried over. “Your Highnesses, we’ve been advised that it would be best for you to return to the palace tonight.”  
  
Syomon looked up sharply; he’d been daydreaming as usual. “What’s this?”  
  
“A thunderstorm is due to begin soon, as you’re probably aware, but it’s predicted to become severe hail or even snow in the morning,” the aide managed explain between great puffing breaths. “I’m afraid you’ll have to cancel the dinner.”  
  
Bain leaned over to whisper to Loran, “It’s all working out for the best, it seems.”  
  
Loran nodded in agreement. Though he didn’t mind the traditional dinner with his brothers too much, going back that night sounded preferable to continuing to be on his best behaviour throughout the evening.  
  
Once he arrived home, he closed the door behind him and began to pull at his tie as he walked toward the bedrooms. He’d throw himself down onto his own bed instead of a hotel bed, worry about his clothes later instead of -  
  
An unmistakable rhythmic noise stopped him in his tracks.  
  
He’d forgotten to inform Mihas that he was coming home early. Naturally, in his absence, caution and discretion would have been thrown to the wind. He stood stock-still, queasiness overtaking shock as he debated what to do.

He decided to make his way to his room as quietly as he could and pretend he’d fallen asleep right away and not heard a thing, but more noises, increasingly loud and frantic, assaulted his ears before he could move. Then he heard a  _thump_ , like something weighty had fallen to the floor, and a drawn-out sound that was half moan, half high-pitched whine, full of urgency and lust. It was Mihas’ voice — he was sure of it.  
  
Loran turned tail and fled. It was one thing to know that Mihas was having the time of his life with Keo, or to see the evidence in his renewed cheerfulness during the day. To listen to it was another.  
  
In his rush to put some distance between himself and the apartment, he nearly missed his phone ringing. He accepted the call with a shaking hand.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Mum,” he said blankly. He was still trying to separate the chant of  _Stop stop stop_ in his head from the phone call.

“Have I caught you at a bad time?”

“No.”

It was a poor lie, and he knew it showed on his face.

His mother hesitated, then began to speak, but her words passed him by without his comprehending them.

“Mum, I’m sorry,” he interrupted when he had a moment of improved lucidity. “It is a bad time. I’ll call you back later, when I...later.”

“Of cour - ”

His finger ended the call before she could finish her sentence. He slumped against a narrow stretch of wall between portraits, hunching his back to fit his body in the gap, and breathed out.

 

Eleana peeked her head around the door. “I hope you won’t make a habit of this,” she said, her words belying a gentleness that almost made Loran want to cry into her shirt.

“I’m sorry.”  
  
“People have done worse.” She stepped aside to let him in. “You picked as good a time as any to call, actually. They’re both asleep for once.”  
  
He felt unable to muster up a nod. “Thank you for letting me stay.”  
  
After giving him a pat on the shoulder, Eleana retreated to the nursery, trading places with Bain.

“You look as though you need a stiff drink.”

Loran let out a weak, mirthless laugh. “I need several.”  
  
“What’s happened?”  
  
The answer came out slowly over a number of whiskies. Bain, irritated at first with the amount of time Loran was taking to tell it, gradually became more horrified than anything else.  
  
“I don’t understand. Mihas is - he wants to sleep with Keo, and you’re letting him?“  
  
“It’s done. I’ve already given my assent. They’ve been together for weeks.”  
  
“You’re joking.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Well - ” Bain made a confused gesture with his unoccupied hand. "You’re his husband. You’re perfectly within your rights to change your mind.”  
  
A flame of anger at his brother’s glibness burned across Loran’s cheeks. “Oh, right. I’ll just say, ‘I know you’re happier than you’ve been in ages, but I’ve decided to snatch that away from you.’”  
  
“Loran.”  
  
“Because it’s that easy, and then he’ll fall straight into my arms.”  
  
Even as he spoke, Loran realised he’d said far too much. Bain put down his glass and looked at him. “I didn’t say anything about that. The last part.”  
  
When Loran stared down at the table instead of responding, he continued, “Regardless, you’re obviously not comfortable with it. You should say something.”  
  
“I can’t.”  
  
“Why not? It’s encroaching on your marriage.”  
  
“What would you know about that?” Loran fired back. “You have no idea. Your marriage doesn’t work like mine.”  _You with your fairytale romance._ He’d never really begrudged Bain his love-match, knowing it was an anomaly, but now a black coal of rage was forming in his chest at the unjustness of it all.  
  
And at Adar with his easy acceptance of the way things were done. And at Syomon with his absurd mutual-love-at-first sight story.  
  
“I know something about having a happy one.”  
  
“Only because you got to marry the person you chose.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s true.”  
  
Loran shook his head. “No. You would have been the same as me with Princess What’s-Her-Name if you’d had to marry her instead.”  
  
Bain didn’t deny this, but he persisted: “Why can’t you withdraw your permission, or at least broach the subject? What’s really stopping you?”  
  
“He’s been dealing with some problems.” Loran couldn’t say more than that; it wasn’t his place to divulge Mihas’ concerns. “I just…I can’t stand in his way. It would be cruel, and he’d resent me.“  
  
Mihas being with someone else was — for the most part — endurable. The thought of Mihas resenting him, even though it was only a thought, came close to destroying him.  
  
“I’ve never known you to be so  _meek_. What happened to the Loran who knew exactly what he wanted and stuck to those convictions?”  
  
Loran smiled wanly. He knew his brother didn’t actually want him to unleash his brash, unthinking side. Bain was only affecting disappointment to try and push him to help himself. “This is me, sticking to my convictions. I’d hate myself if I didn’t.”  
  
Yet he also hated himself for creating this problem in the first place.  
  
“And your happiness? What about that, Loran?”  
  
“Don’t worry about me.” Loran’s voice boomed with false confidence. “I’ll find it one day.”

 

\---

From his vantage point in the sitting room, Mihas had an excellent view of Loran pottering about the shared areas of the apartment, hangover evident and feet dragging. He wondered why Loran didn’t just go to bed and sleep it off, but supposed it wasn’t really his business, just as Loran’s exact movements of the night before weren’t. He had been worried when he’d checked his phone after waking up and found an error-riddled text sent in the middle of the night; it didn’t seem to have occurred to Loran to inform Mihas of his whereabouts until he was several hours and who knew how many drinks in. But then, they were only partners in a strict sense of the word. It wasn’t clear how closely they should follow the conventions of a relationship.  
  
The same question had nagged at Mihas after the recent evening they’d spent alone, when they’d stood together in the kitchen and he’d had a sudden, wild urge to pull Loran closer for a kiss. In the space of only a few seconds, a fully formed fantasy had flashed through his mind: the two of them in their home, sharing kisses and breaths, hands roaming and bodies pushing themselves toward where there was more space for what they wanted to do. A perfect, domestic end to their night.  
  
The moment had passed, but if he’d done it, would he have been breaking some sort of code in his liaison with Keo? How far were his obligations and loyalty to each person meant to go?  
  
He watched, half-lost in his musings, as Keo materialised from somewhere and steered Loran to a chair. Fragments of their conversation floated through his consciousness; he thought they were discussing Keo’s upcoming departure, but he wasn’t certain.  
  
As confusing as the current arrangement was, it was nice that nothing much seemed to have changed between Loran and Keo. Mihas assumed they didn’t discuss him when they talked and laughed together as they always had — why would they? It was easier to keep that part of their lives separate.  
  
In any case, that part would be over soon. Mihas wasn’t looking forward to losing Keo’s companionship, but he couldn’t deny feeling a certain amount of relief as well. He wasn’t planning on seeking out another lover and the related complications anytime soon, even if (when) he became terribly lonely again.

 

“Going to miss me?”

“You know I will.”  
  
”Maybe I just need to hear it. I am, after all, about to move to a new country, something I’m sure you’re familiar with. I might be terrified and quaking inside.”  
  
Mihas let his head fall back onto the bed and laughed. “I never quaked. But yes, I’ll miss you.”  
  
“Thank you!” Keo mimed wiping sweat off his brow. “I feel slightly less terrified now.”  
  
“I’m glad to hear it.”  
  
“I’ll miss you too. And I hope…”  
  
“What is it?” Mihas asked when Keo didn’t finish the sentence right away.  
  
“If it’s not too presumptuous of me, I hope you’ll find what you need — or what you want — someday.”  
  
Mihas wasn’t sure what he was getting at. “I suppose that’s all anyone can hope for.”  
  
Keo acknowledged this with a tilt of his head. “And, well, if you don’t, you could always visit, whether it’s as a friend or as something else…as long as you let me know before you arrive.”  
  
The grin faded from Mihas’ face as he considered the earnestness in Keo’s eyes. He _was_ going to miss Keo and all that he’d brought with him. “Thank you,” he said softly. “It’s been...everything’s been...good.”  
  
It was far from eloquent, but his meaning seemed to get across. Keo pulled him closer, and he closed his eyes, trying to commit to memory the little things he’d become accustomed to — the warmth of lying on a broad, bare chest, feeling the pulse thrum underneath the skin.

 

They said their goodbyes in Mihas’ room. Afterwards, he hid himself away in the bath, staying long after the evidence of their  _one last time_ had been washed away.

When he finally ventured out, the sun had finished rising and Loran was curled up on the sofa alone, chin almost resting on his knees.

Mihas had been expecting things with Loran to return to the way they were, comfortable and companionable, as they’d seemed to that one evening. Now, however, he could sense a new, unwelcome coldness between them, and it was most likely his fault. He’d disrupted their growing together from strangers to something like close friends.  
  
It was on this sombre note that he squeezed himself into the remaining space on the sofa, taking into account the need for a respectful distance. Loran immediately moved over to give him more room. Mihas could feel his gaze; incongruously, it brought to mind the sensation of Keo’s hands on his body and the tiny bruises hidden under his clothing.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
He shook his head.  
  
In truth, he did want to talk about the reality which was gradually making itself evident. He’d been counting on his time with Keo getting the — he wasn’t sure what to call it, but the combination of frustrated desire and longing for tenderness — getting that out of his system, so that he could take a more level-headed approach to his marriage. He’d been wrong; he didn’t feel level-headed. If anything, the ache in his chest he tended to notice in Loran’s presence was sharper than ever.  
  
“We have that meeting tomorrow,” Loran said suddenly. Mihas, grateful for but startled by the change in topic, scrambled to remember what meeting he was referring to. “With your great-uncle’s representative. What’s he called again?”  
  
“Er…Gerei. That was the only name he gave, as far as I know.”  
  
“Right, right. Well, we’ll obviously have the usual security detail with us, but if you’d like me to arrange anything supplemental, just say the word.”  
  
Mihas shook his head again, this time in amusement. “I really don’t think he’ll try to murder us.”  
  
Loran stretched, then leaned on his head to the side against the cushions. “Your choice.”  
  
They fell silent, smiling at each other across the distance — “the distance” seemed a good way to describe it, even if they were sat inches apart. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t all bad, being back here with Loran.

 

\---  
  
Loran wasn’t sure what it said about him that despite sensing how nervous Mihas was and sympathising, he also felt giddy at the prospect of them doing something together. He kept up a steady stream of chatter as they walked to the North Wing, where the meeting with Gerei was to take place, relishing the return to their old dynamic. His role in it was taking a simple, quiet joy in his husband’s company and making him laugh. With the dark cloud of moroseness that seemed to be hanging over Mihas’ head like a portent, he intended to hold onto any bit of happiness he could find.  
  
Their visitor was standing with his back to the door, apparently taking in the view, when they arrived at the glass-walled meeting room. He missed or ignored Edi knocking on the door and clearing her throat, and turned around only when she announced their presence in an unusually officious tone.  
  
Loran could see why Edi was on edge. Disapproval, or perhaps contempt, seemed to inform Gerei’s every movement, and his eyes — blue like Mihas’, but cold and unyielding — kept darting up and down the two of them once he’d greeted them with an almost imperceptible bow.  
  
Mihas had sensed it as well. “What is your business here?” he asked evenly, his gaze steady and devoid of nerves.  
  
“Straight to the point. Good,” Gerei replied without a hint of deference. “Sit, then.”  
  
Loran bristled. He didn’t tend to put much stock in rank, but Mihas deserved the respect and protection it was supposed to provide. “I will not have His Highness spoken to in that tone,” he snapped.  
  
“Apologies,  _Your Highness,_ but I will speak how I like to my nephew.”  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, Loran saw Mihas stand up straighter, mirroring his own reaction, as they processed what they’d just heard.  
  
“Nephew,” Mihas repeated.  
  
“What sort of nonsense is this?” Loran demanded at the same time.  
  
Gerei’s smile did nothing to lessen the hostility he was radiating. “I hope the last few weeks have given you time to reflect on your position in the world,” he said, now addressing Mihas directly. “I only regret that I haven’t been around to witness your confusion.”  
  
“You?”  
  
“Yes, it was me. I thought it was quite clever, if I do say so myself, disguising it as tabloid trash.” Loran tensed as Gerei’s gaze turned to him. “But you’re familiar with how these little scandals work, aren’t you, Your Highness? You know that if a story is timed well, it’ll be believed regardless of its veracity.”  
  
“What did you hope to gain from this?” Mihas interjected before Loran could respond in a less calm manner.  
  
“Good question. I wanted you,” Gerei said, each word measured, “to feel something of the suffering that my father felt. My late father, Prince Ondros. He was forgiving to the end. I am not.”  
  
The pieces of the puzzle were coming together slowly, but Loran ploughed ahead of the pace. He didn’t want to be part of Gerei’s captive audience for a second longer than necessary. “Your father — he was your father, then, not your employer — was exiled from court.”  
  
Mihas took a steadying breath and joined in. “The ‘family friend’...that was him. He had an affair with his own brother’s...”  
  
Gerei, obviously annoyed that they weren’t allowing him to play raconteur, changed tack. “He was never allowed to see or speak to his first child. Never saw anything but little glimpses of his first grandson. His dying wish was to meet you, but the family couldn’t let him have even that one thing, could they? No, they arranged to ship you here, halfway around the world, as quickly as they could.”  
  
“How do you know?” Loran cut in. “No tests have been performed. All of this could be for nothing.”  
  
“I have my father’s word about the sorry state of the royal marriage at the time. You can perform any test you like. It will show that I am telling the truth.”  
  
Mihas, too, seemed tired of listening to Gerei. “What do you want?” he asked, still remarkably calm on the surface. “You’ve made me wonder. You’ve told me the truth. And now — what do you want from me?“  
  
“Nothing you can give me personally. But tomorrow...” Gerei laughed, put his hands in his pockets, and leaned back. “Tomorrow, it all comes out. Consider it a late wedding present that I bothered to inform you beforehand, although speaking of the wedding - ”  
  
“I’ll have you held in secure custody,” Loran interrupted furiously. “I’ll go to my father first. It’ll be the word of an unknown person with a vendetta against mine.”  
  
”Now, Your Highness, you know that’s not so. As I said earlier, you’re familiar with how these things work in the press. And it just so happens that this time, I have the truth on my side.”  
  
“Let him do it.”  
  
Loran wheeled around to look at Mihas in astonishment. “What?”  
  
“Let him tell what he wants,” Mihas said evenly. “It was bound to happen someday.”  
  
“I can’t.”  
  
To Loran’s surprise, Mihas reached over and briefly squeezed his hand. His heart leapt at the touch, but its warmth disappeared before he could really start feeling it. “This most directly affects me. Please, allow me the decision.”  
  
He looked into his husband’s eyes, feeling helpless. No matter how strong his desire to fight this, he had to put Mihas’ wishes over his own. He couldn’t do otherwise and live with himself.  
  
“As you wish.”  
  
“Thank you.” Without so much as glancing over his shoulder at Gerei, Mihas gestured toward the door, where Edi and the security officers were standing guard. “Let’s go home.”

 

\---  
  
Although the experience wasn’t wholly pleasant, Mihas considered it fortunate that his mind detached itself from reality during the long walk back to the apartment. He observed himself putting one foot in front of the other as if watching from above, Loran in step beside him, and thought of nothing else until the door closed behind them.  
  
The sound jerked him back to full consciousness. He turned to see Loran, who was close enough to press against the wall and kiss with minimal effort on his part. He took one step forward and did exactly that.  
  
What came next wasn’t the worry-erasing bliss he had hoped for. Loran leaned into it after a split second’s hesitation, mouth soft and open as he ran gentle hands down Mihas’ arms, yet there was only blankness where pleasure should have been. Mihas felt as though he was kissing stone — so desperate to feel something other than anger and confusion that he was forcing his lips and body on a statue. He wrenched himself off and backed away.  
  
“Sorry.” His voice cracked on the hasty apology. “I shouldn’t have done that.”  
  
“It’s - ”  
  
“You’re probably going to say we should sit down and discuss it, and that is likely the best - I was - I just wanted to forget. I’m sorry.”  
  
Whatever Loran was thinking, he didn’t seem angry, for which Mihas was grateful.  
  
He pushed down the twisting pain in his chest, which he knew was disappointment. Kissing his husband for the first time had been nothing like he’d imagined, and he had only himself to blame for ruining it.  
  
It would never have come true, of course, but he’d held onto the dream all the same. And that was the problem, really: he’d been so enchanted by the idea of growing up that he’d accepted everything without question.  
  
“None of this is your fault,” Loran said, as if he’d read Mihas’ mind.  
  
Mihas blinked and looked around. They’d sat down without his realising it.  
  
“There was no way you could have suspected. You said yourself — your grandfather is the same toward everyone. And it all happened so long ago.”  
  
“I know. I know you’re right, but...”  
  
“But what?”  
  
“I feel so stupid.” Mihas rubbed at his aching eyes. “I did think it was a bit odd how quickly the marriage was arranged, but I never thought to question it. Just like I never thought to question...well, anything.”  
  
“I think you’re being unkind to yourself.”  
  
He barely heard Loran. “I’d built up this whole...thing, this fantasy life, and now it turns out all of it has been a fantasy, in a way. The marriage treaty was based on a deception. I imagine your father will want to get it annulled as soon as possible and find someone else for you to marry.”  
  
“Mihas.”  
  
_Next time, you might end up married to someone you actually want to be with._ His teeth rattled with the effort of keeping that thought to himself. “You know, I’ve never believed in fate or events being ‘meant to be’ and that sort of thing, but in this case, I can’t help thinking this wasn’t meant to be. Maybe it’s better this way, at least for you.”  
  
“No.”  
  
That startled Mihas into abandoning his ramble. “No?”  
  
“Look, it doesn’t matter. None of that stuff matters.” Loran stood up abruptly and started to pace. “Even if the legal aspect is - no, I don’t care about any of that. We can face this. We don’t even have to stay here, we can - I don’t know, go and work on one of my mum’s family’s farms if it comes to that. It doesn’t have to be as you said.”  
  
_We?_

“We?”  
  
Loran stopped pacing, and his eyes went wide, as if it was just now occurring to him what he’d said.  
  
“What do you mean, _we_?”

For what felt like an eternity, they stared at each other, Mihas leaning back hard on the sofa for support and Loran standing in front of him with his fists clenched. Finally, Loran let out a long, shaky sigh and spoke: “I could pretend that came out wrong, but I’d be lying. I meant exactly what I said.”  
  
_What?_

Mihas looked uncomprehendingly at his husband. What he’d just heard was something Loran might have said in Mihas’ childish dream world, the one where they were madly in love and Loran couldn’t bear to be separated from him. It had no basis in reality.  
  
“I don’t understand. You can’t just...you can’t give everything up.”  
  
“I can. I will.”  
  
“That doesn’t make any sense.”  
  
Those words seemed to take the fight out of Loran as quickly as it had risen. “It should be your decision, of course,” he conceded, so quietly that Mihas had to strain to hear him. “I’ve said that from the beginning.”  
  
“No, I mean...”  
  
Mihas found he couldn’t continue, at least not with words. The only thing he could think of at the moment was that he needed to stand up and kiss Loran again before anything else went wrong.  
  
This time, with Loran’s arms firm around his trembling body and their breaths coming in urgent gasps as their lips crashed together over and over again, it felt like everything Mihas had ever wanted.


	5. Chapter 5

Over the past few weeks, and arguably for the duration of their marriage, Loran had been prepared to lose Mihas. That was what he’d convinced himself of, at any rate, taking the stance that Mihas’ life wasn’t his regardless of what their vows said. If Mihas would be happiest taking up with Keo again or with someone else, or going travelling like the Duchess had done for the last decade, Loran had no intention of insisting on a formal separation or divorce. To act otherwise would have been to pretend that they hadn’t been placed into this marriage entirely by external forces.  
  
Now, confronted with Mihas about to press the Escape button, Loran was beginning to realise that he’d thoroughly deceived himself. He was in no way prepared. In fact, he was frightened. Mihas had a quiet strength about him; no matter what life threw at him, he kept going, more often than not with a genuine smile on his face. It was one of the first things Loran had noticed about his husband, and one of the things he admired the most. That strength was crumbling before his eyes and he didn’t know how to stop it crumbling except by offering his own company, which he wasn’t even certain would be welcome.  
  
He managed to pull away, though no further than a few inches — their foreheads were still pressed together, Mihas’ body still warm against his.

“I don’t want to be a burden on you,” he whispered, each word tearing a little more at his heart. “Whatever happens, I’ll help. But if you’d prefer to be with - ”

Mihas cut him off with a kiss. Loran swayed forward when it ended faster than he’d expected, but caught himself — or Mihas caught him — before he could stumble.

“What do _you_ want?”  
  
_It should be up to you_ and _Whatever you want_ presented themselves as possible responses, but Loran knew Mihas wasn’t looking for that. On the other hand, being frank about his wants could be dangerous, and -  
  
“I want to be married to you.” It came out all in a rush. “Not someone else.”  
  
“And?” Somehow, Mihas could sense that he wasn’t done. Those electric blue eyes were searching his, willing him to be honest.  
  
“I want you to be happy. I want - ” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I want to make you happy.”  
  
Mihas’ gaze softened. He took Loran’s face in his hands and kissed him a dozen times, some on his mouth and some on his cheeks, all of them tender.

“You idiot,” he said when he’d finished. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”  
  
_That’s all I’ve ever wanted._

Loran could barely make space in his mind for anything other than those words and the bolt of heat that ran along his body with every new meeting of their lips. It was only once they’d parted to let Mihas sit down and he was on his knees that he could think — about how much lost time he had to make up for, about all he wanted to say.  
  
For the time being, need took precedence over words. He pulled Mihas’ shirt up enough to slide his hands underneath and over warm, smooth skin, thrilling at the way his husband’s muscles contracted in reaction to his touch. The next thing he knew, his gaze was being redirected upward by a hand cradling his jaw, and he complied to find Mihas looking at him in wonder, his breaths coming in quick bursts. It reminded Loran that this wasn’t the time to hesitate or be cautious.  
  
He couldn’t help pausing when his exploration revealed the marks on Mihas’ hips and thighs. There were only a few, and they were small, but his chest still clenched to see them; it took him back to the night he’d come home too early, which he’d ended by drinking himself stupid to try and scrub what he’d heard from his brain.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
He looked up again and saw that Mihas was too far gone to remember what might be wrong. _Not the time_ , he told himself again. He was the one here now with Mihas, and Mihas was eager for this, for him. The rest was irrelevant.  
  
He shook his head to signal _Nothing_ and put himself to work on Mihas’ cock.

From the first contact with his tongue to the moment he took all of it in his mouth and to the back of his throat, Mihas reacted only with soft gasps as if he, too, had reason to hesitate. Loran increased the pace and continued to take him deep until his hips thrust forward and a fully voiced moan escaped his lips.  
  
What followed was a blur, one sensation overtaking the next in rapid succession until Loran felt dizzy, the feeling of Mihas coming down his throat still vivid as he pushed his face against Mihas’ shoulder and thrust into his hand until he spilled over the tight grip of his fingers.  
  
It occurred to Loran, as the fog of pleasure began to clear, that this might not be quite what Mihas had pictured for their first time: mostly clothed, sprawled out on the sitting-room floor and leaning heavily on the sofa and each other to keep from collapsing. He’d have envisioned a more formal occasion, perhaps, where they’d undress ceremoniously next to their marital bed and gently guide each other to lie down.  
  
Mihas laughed when he heard these musings. “I suppose you’re right,” he said thoughtfully. “But I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really. Granted, we could do without the...you know.”  
  
“The rest of the world?”  
  
“With a few exceptions, yes.” With a sigh, he pressed a kiss to Loran’s cheek. “So what’s the plan?”  
  
“Plan?” Loran, marvelling at how natural it had felt and yet made his face glow with heat, didn’t register the question at first. “Oh. For tomorrow, you mean.”  
  
Mihas nodded, his expression turning serious. “And beyond. There will be discussion of an annulment, at the very least, and of a replacement.”  
  
Loran knew that to be true, but he also knew he was ready to defy and defend. “I won’t acquiesce. That’s all there is to it.”  
  
“All right.” There was a hint of scepticism in Mihas’ response, for which he couldn’t be blamed. They both knew he was on shaky ground.  
  
“If they manage to bring about an annulment, I’ll just have to marry you again.”

 

\---

_Come to bed._

It was absurd, really, inviting his husband where he belonged by rights, but Loran couldn’t regret saying it. Not when just those three words made Mihas breathe out like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, then take his hand with only a hint of hesitation.

He made sure to take his time, this time, and the almost-shy smiles and almost-bold touches he got in return made up for the impatient jumps of his heartbeat.

 

In all his daydreams about being in bed with his husband, Mihas hadn’t managed a clear picture of Loran’s face.

His eyes fluttering closed as he kissed Mihas’ neck and shoulder, not leaving marks but leaving each spot burning all the same. A mischievous little smile taking hold as they settled into the sheets and their bodies joined together, seeking closeness as much as the electricity of pleasure.

Mihas hadn’t imagined the little smile, somehow. And he hadn’t imagined what it would be like to make Loran come hard, render him pleading and then speechless, but now...  
  
He reached up to stroke along Loran’s face.

“Is something wrong?”

 _But now..._ “No, this is - this is good. So good. But I don’t want you to hold back.”  
  
“Does it feel like I’m holding back?”  
  
“No, not exactly, but you could...do more. If you wanted.”

 

Loran’s self-restraint gave out immediately at _If you wanted._ If he wanted? His pulse was pounding in his ears, his body seemingly governed by madness as he pulled out and flipped Mihas over. He wanted it all — the desperation of their earlier encounter, the slow lovemaking, and this -

 

Mihas’ head threw itself back on a gasp as Loran wrapped a hand around his cock and started stroking, more roughly than he’d anticipated, and a harsh whisper filled his ear: “I want you.” A bitten-back groan, a hard thrust that nearly made him drop down onto the bed. “I want this, too.”

 _Oh._ “Now?” he asked, realising a second too late that he was confused.  
  
He expected Loran to laugh and say _Well, not_ now, _but..._ Instead, he gasped and his hips snapped forward, his thrusts becoming increasingly erratic, and it occurred to Mihas that he must be imagining it happening, getting off to the impossible yet enticing idea of being fucked while he - while they -

Mihas lost that thread of thought and all others as well as he came to the sound of his husband’s voice, his body only held in some semblance of non-collapse by Loran’s arm.

 

\---

Mihas wondered if it was a good sign that he’d been awakened by birds chirping sweetly outside Loran’s (their) bedroom window. He didn’t believe in signs, but at some point during the previous day, he’d begun to think that perhaps he should. He could use anything that might make life in general make a bit more sense.  
  
On the other hand, he probably didn’t need to. He could see plenty of good signs of a different sort: Loran asleep next to him; the gloriously crumpled sheets surrounding their naked bodies; their clothes strewn on the floor and at the foot of the bed. They’d switched their phones off and shared a meal of wine and fruit before retiring to the bedroom, where they’d played out Mihas’ fantasy of unhurried, exploratory sex — at least, it had begun that way.  
  
He was pleasingly sore in several places, and he imagined Loran was as well. The way Loran groaned as he stirred and stretched said as much. Mihas shifted closer until they were skin to skin, rolled up together in the sheet.  
  
He’d wanted to wake up like this the morning after their wedding, and when he‘d learned that he wouldn’t, he had felt like - no, he wouldn’t think about that now.  
  
“I missed you,” Loran said into his hair.

When Mihas looked up in confusion, he elaborated: “Whenever one of us was out late, when you were with…I missed you so much.”  
  
“I’m here now.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“And I missed you too.”  
  
Mihas knew they were just delaying the inevitable — soon, they’d need to turn their phones back on to see what awaited them — but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Loran’s arms or to pull away from the kisses that, despite the night he’d had, were causing his body to awaken again. _Not yet. Not yet._

 

The chant of _not yet_ in his head became _never_ as they stood before the king, whose gaze lingered on their joined hands. Adar was on his right, and to Adar’s right was Minister Hairad — probably summoned due to her involvement in facilitating the marriage, not as support for Mihas.  
  
Loran made the opening move. “Thank you for not disturbing us at home,” he said before anyone else could speak. “I was glad to see that we were still afforded some princely dignity.”  
  
“You are not quite correct in saying ‘we’,” the king replied in an equally frosty tone.  
  
Adar looked between his father and brother, obviously uneasy at the tension. “Why don’t we all sit down,” he suggested. “Loran, Mihas, would you care for tea? I could ring for - ”  
  
The king cut him off with a “No need. I have no desire to prolong this meeting.”  
  
Mihas tightened his grip on Loran’s hand and tried to breathe through his fear. He hadn’t expected to be given a chance to plead his case thoroughly, but for this to be treated as an easily decided matter...  
  
“I have been deceived.”  
  
“We all have, including Mihas.”  
  
The king ignored Loran’s interjection. “The agreement for your marriage was made in bad faith on the other side’s part. No matter how trivial the deception, accepting it would make me a fool in the eyes of the public and of the government - ”  
  
Loran interrupted again: “So what are you proposing?”  
  
“ _And of the government_. Therefore, I see no way forward but to dissolve the marriage on grounds of misrepresentation, and to send Mihas back to his home country.”  
  
Loran drew in a sharp breath. Hearing it spurred Mihas to speak up in a clear, measured voice, surprising even himself: “My part of the agreement was made in good faith. Neither I nor Loran committed any act of misrepresentation, and the two of us are the only participants in the marriage.”  
  
“I’m afraid that’s not really the case, Your Highness,” Minister Hairad said gently. “Marriage contracts of this nature are signed not only by the couple, but also by those who arranged it.”  
  
Before Mihas could digest this, Loran suddenly sat bolt upright in his chair. “How do you suppose your public will feel about you,” he said, looking directly at his father, “when they find out that you tore apart a loving marriage?”  
  
For the first time, the king’s confidence appeared to falter. Nonetheless, he matched Loran’s attitude and tone in replying, “I would only be doing my duty. Even the most romantic-minded member of the public would understand.”  
  
Adar shifted in his seat, looking like he wanted to contradict his father, but he seemed to think better of it.  
  
“That’s where I believe you’re wrong, Father.” Loran stood up, though not before giving Mihas’ hand a squeeze, and walked forward until he was staring into the king’s eyes from inches away. “With the right spin on the story, the tabloids will have the people calling for your abdication.”  
  
“Loran!” Adar exclaimed.  
  
“They came close during the divorce, I know that. You and your aides had to work around the clock so that your image would recover after all those rumours and articles. Who knows if it’ll recover a second time?”  
  
“This is blackmail,” the king thundered. “Blackmail and madness. Your whole life, you have held the press in contempt — with good reason, I might add — yet you are now thinking of throwing in your lot with them?”  
  
“If that’s what it takes.”  
  
“If I may, Your Majesty,” Minister Hairad’s soft, clear voice cut through the confrontation. “I propose that we take some time to confer.”  
  
Mihas suppressed an untimely smile. As fond of his own authority as the king was, it wasn’t in his best interest or his training to be dismissive to a foreign diplomatic representative. Mihas suspected the Minister was using that fact to her, and possibly his, advantage.  
  
“Ten minutes,” the king said ungraciously, his eyes still burning with anger. “Loran, take him and go.”

 

It wasn’t until they’d been led to an empty office to wait that Mihas fully understood what Loran had just done. He’d threatened his father, his sovereign, with public disgrace, just to keep their marriage from being dissolved. Mihas ought to have been glad — and he was. He knew he was extraordinarily lucky to have Loran fighting so hard for him, and somewhere underneath the horror, he felt more attracted to his husband than ever. But...  
  
“Thank you,” he said quietly, taking both of Loran’s hands in his. “I’m grateful, I truly am. But I can’t ask you to blow up your relationship with your family.”  
  
Loran looked surprised. “You’re not asking me to.”  
  
“You’re doing it because of me.”  
  
“Well, yes. I just couldn’t - I mean, the way Father talked about ‘sending you back’, as though you‘re defective goods. It was outrageous.”  
  
“Isn’t that how you felt about me at first?”  
  
Mihas hadn’t meant to blurt that out, at least not in those exact words, but he’d been thinking about it. Whatever their relationship now, the early days of his marriage had made him feel that he was in some way lacking — and waking up next to Loran that morning had forced him to remember.  
  
For his part, Loran squeezed his eyes shut like he was in pain. “I’m sorry,” he said when he opened them again. “I’m so sorry I made you feel that way. That was never what I thought. Never.”  
  
Mihas didn’t know whether he believed Loran completely. He wanted to, but his doubts about what they were doing were clanging too loudly in his head. “I just can’t abide the thought of you being cut off forever like Ondros was. Is it really worth it?”  
  
Loran sucked in a breath. “What?”  
  
“I can’t - ”

“Are you asking if our marriage is worth it to me? If _you_ ’re worth it?”  
  
“You might lose your whole family. Not just your father, but your brothers, your nieces and nephews, Eleana. So yes, I am asking you.”  
  
“I’m trying to prevent that happening, but I told you I don’t mind going elsewhere. And there will always be ways to keep in contact. I’m not worried about that. Unless…”  
  
“Unless what?”  
  
“Am I asking too much of you?”  
  
Mihas’ heart sank at the sight of Loran looking down at the floor, past their joined hands. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Here I am, assuming that you’re fine with all the possibilities.” Loran shook his head and swallowed hard. “As if you should only be too glad to live as a quasi-fugitive, away from the only kind of life you’ve known, with someone who made you feel like…that.”  
  
Mihas instinctively leaned forward until his forehead rested against Loran’s. Closeness was what they needed now, not more debate. “I don’t hold it against you,” he said softly. “Even then, I knew you were trying to be kind.“  
  
When Loran remained silent, Mihas put his arms around him and held him until their breathing took on the same rhythm, steady and deep.  
  
“How about this,” Mihas proposed at length. “I won’t question what you’re willing to do keep us together, and you won’t question what I’m willing to do for the same.”  
  
Loran exhaled slowly. “Okay.”  
  
“Because even if we end up on a little farm in the middle of nowhere, milking horses for the rest of our lives, I’d go with you.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yes, really. What have we just agreed on?”  
  
“Fair enough.”

 

When they were called back to the king’s office, they went hand in hand again, but with their hearts considerably lighter.  
  
“Sit down,” the king ordered. Mihas observed him frowning at them as they sat; he’d probably expected them to return in a more sombre mood.  
  
”First, Loran, let us be completely clear on something.”  
  
“What is it, Father?”  
  
“Present laws regarding the succession give me the right to remove you from it with little justification. Are you aware of this?”  
  
“I’m nowhere near the throne, Father.”  
  
“Answer the question.”  
  
Loran ran a hand over his eyes in evident exasperation. “Yes, I am aware. It’s never made a difference to me.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
An uncomfortable silence followed. Mihas looked at Minister Hairad, who gave him a small smile but said nothing; the king seemed to be taking his time over whatever he planned to say.    
  
Finally, he straightened up and addressed Mihas directly for the first time. “Minister Hairad has been kind enough to advise me on this matter. I am not without reservations, but given certain attitudes…” He paused and briefly turned to glare at Loran. “Given certain attitudes which I have encountered today, I have concluded that following her recommendations would be best.”  
  
Mihas felt Loran tense up beside him; he was doing the same.  
  
“At this time, I will not attempt to impose an annulment.”  
  
“Thank you,” Mihas said immediately, feeling his shoulders fall in relief.  
  
“Thank you, Father,” Loran said at the same time. It was the first time Mihas could recall him addressing his father with genuine good will.  
  
“ _Only_ because no law exists — yet — to stop you getting married again. Further, Adar has pointed out that you would abandon this court and your duties without a second thought if you deemed it necessary.”  
  
Mihas noticed then that the king and Adar were wearing matching expressions of disapproval. Loran, on the other hand, was actually grinning. “You know me better than I thought, Adar.”  
  
“Dereliction is no laughing matter,” the king snapped. “And neither is blackmail. Understand that my decisions today have been made purely for the good of the monarchy.”  
  
“Thank you,” Mihas said again, wary of the castigation that might come their way otherwise.  
  
“The Minister intends to retire next month,” the king continued, turning to face Mihas again. “Her deputy will replace her, and she has requested that you serve as a community liaison under the new minister.”  
  
Mihas’ heart leapt up to his throat. “You mean...”  
  
“It means that rather than living here simply as a member of the royal family, you will do so as part of the diplomatic mission. In other words, you will be employed by and accountable to the Helosian government. The details of your personal status are not mine to sort out, but the Minister informs me that you will most likely be able to take on your father’s marquessate, as it is currently vacant. These measures will render your marriage somewhat more palatable.”  
  
_Palatable to whom?_ , Mihas wondered, but didn’t ask. He was turning over in his head the idea of being under his grandparents’ authority again. He wouldn’t have chosen it, certainly, but it wouldn’t be the same as living with them; he was far enough away that he could be like Minister Hairad and make his visits home few and far between.  
  
“That is all,” the king said abruptly. “Please leave me to speak with Adar.”  
  
The Minister received a polite nod. Mihas and Loran, expecting no such courtesy, left the room as quickly as decency allowed.  
  
Once they were safe at the other end of the corridor, Mihas clasped Minister Hairad’s unoccupied hand. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me. For us.”  
  
“We are very much in your debt,” Loran added. “If there’s any way we can repay you...”  
  
The Minister waved her cane airily, squeezing Mihas’ hand harder to support herself. “It was my pleasure, Your Highness. I thought I would do some good before I left. Now,” she added, fixing her gaze on Mihas, “I should say that I did not make my recommendations lightly. I believe that, provided you work hard at it, you will prove excellent at this job. And who knows? You might learn a few things, rise up through the ranks.”  
  
“Do you really think so?” Mihas asked in surprise. He supposed he could do reasonably well in the community liaison position, which bore some resemblance to his current role, but he’d assumed that there would always be more qualified candidates for the more straightforward diplomatic positions.  
  
“I don’t see why not, as long as you apply yourself. I shall see you both soon, Your Highnesses.”  
  
As they watched her make her way to the exit, Mihas put an arm around Loran’s waist. They remained that way for a long while, relishing the calm intimacy of it, until a noise of a door closing nearby reminded them that they should go home.  
  
As they started walking, Loran cleared his throat. “I know we said we wouldn’t question it.”  
  
“I can deal with my grandparents. It’s a small price to pay.” Mihas stopped to press a kiss to the corner of Loran’s mouth. “I get to come home to you and not them. I’d say that’s a significant improvement over before.”  
  
Loran pulled him into a proper embrace; fortunately, no one else was in their path to collide with them. “I’m glad to hear that.”

 

\---

Edi was waiting for them at the apartment. Mihas had messaged ahead to let her know the gist of what had happened, and she seemed content to work with that for the time being. “Articles,” she told them, gesturing toward the tablets she’d set out. “I’m holding all calls and messages from home. I don’t think now is the right time to attempt handling them.”  
  
Mihas stepped forward to wrap her in a hug, a silent _Thank you_. Loran felt as though he ought to hug her too, but it was probably just the novelty of acting as one with Mihas; he didn’t know Edi that well yet. It was something he’d need to work on. “Shall we?”  
  
“Why not,” Mihas agreed with a sigh. He picked up a tablet and went to the sofa, and Loran followed suit.  
  
The tabloid articles were as lurid as he had expected — uppercase words popping everywhere, family photos old and new splashed throughout. He noted with some disdain that the text consisted mostly of long, rambling quotes from Gerei. “So this is what he would have gone on about if we’d let him,” he remarked as he read.  
  
“I’m glad we didn’t.”  
  
“So am I. What _is_ all this? ‘Missed opportunities’...‘connections severed forever’...”

“‘Inquiries regarding reinstatement’...he can’t be serious,” Mihas scoffed. “Even if he were restored to his correct place in the succession, there would be about a hundred people ahead of him.”  
  
Loran turned his tablet face-down on the nearest table. He had already been infuriated at Gerei and what he’d orchestrated, but his self-assured nattering about the life he felt he’d been deprived of, only sprinkled with token mentions of avenging his father, was insufferable. It poked at Loran’s anger in a way that made him grind his teeth, remembering Mihas’ uncharacteristically defeatist attitude after the revelation.  
  
He felt a nudge at his elbow. “Loran, it’s going to be all right. It’s over.”  
  
“Is it? There’s still your family to contend with.”  
  
“Yes, and I can’t even begin to think about what I’ll say to them. But _we_ ’re good. As far as I’m concerned, that means he’s lost at whatever game he thinks this is.”  
  
As lovely as it was to see Mihas back to his old self, Loran couldn’t quite achieve the same level of optimism. He tucked himself into Mihas’ side and breathed in, letting the warmth wash over him. This, at least, was solid and real and reassuring.  
  
“I apologise for interrupting.” Edi’s voice sounded very far away. “There’s a message asking whether you still intend to attend the birthday banquet. From the planning manager,” she clarified when Mihas raised his head. “They want to finalise the seating chart.”  
  
“Ah.” Mihas sat up straight, much to Loran’s disappointment, but made up for it by taking hold of his hand. “What do you think? If you’re up for it, I am.”  
  
Loran resisted the urge to ask Mihas if he was really, truly sure. “Yes, I think we should go.”  
  
“Excellent.” Edi made a note of something on her phone. “Mihas, let me know when you’re ready to speak to - well, _someone_ from home. It doesn’t have to be all nine thousand of them.”  
  
“Couldn’t it wait until we see them in person at the banquet? I’m joking,” Mihas added hastily. “I’m joking. Tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”  
  
Edi nodded, then her severe expression relaxed into a smile. “I’m glad you can joke. I mean that sincerely.”  
  
Loran privately agreed with her. It was good to see that Mihas wasn’t in agony over the prospect of speaking to his family post-scandal. He’d seen Mihas in agony, and it had hurt.  
  
He tried to shift back to their previous position after Edi had headed out the door, and ended up sliding further down until his head was in Mihas’ lap. He closed his eyes contentedly and considered what was next for them: Mihas and his new position; their upcoming joint engagement with the bereavement charity; the visit to Helosia.  
  
“We never did decide on a gift.”  
  
“No, I suppose we didn’t.” Mihas huffed out a wry laugh. “I think your bird idea was the best of the lot, to be honest.”  
  
“Let’s sleep on it.” Loran stretched out his limbs and positioned his head more securely on his husband’s thigh. It was nowhere near bedtime, but now that they’d weathered their first crisis as a couple, it seemed a suitable time to rest as a couple.

 

When Loran opened his eyes again, the sun had all but finished its retreat beyond the horizon. There was a pillow under his head and a blanket tucked carefully around his body, and he could hear Mihas’ voice drifting in from the dining room. He got up and approached quietly, unsure whether his presence would be welcome.  
  
Mihas’ face was lit only by the glow of the little screen in front of him. “I see where you’re coming from, but that is not the point,” he was saying, calm and composed in a way Loran could never hope to be. “The point is that I was blindsided.”  
  
“I am aware,” replied the person on the other end. “ _My_ point, Mihas, is that you’ve gained more than you’ve lost. It would therefore be unreasonable to foster resentment over this.”

“I’m struggling to understand what was going through your minds when you arranged it.”  
  
“The same thing we always keep in mind. Sometimes, we are obligated to do things that we, from a personal standpoint, do not want to do.”  
  
“Right. And at any point, did you stop and think that you should be a bit more transparent?”  
  
“No. What good would it have done?”  
  
Mihas looked up at the ceiling, betraying his frustration. “Aunt Ros,” he said quietly and deliberately, “I would have agreed to the marriage regardless. You, or _someone_ , must have known that.”  
  
Loran decided to leave him to it. It was probably silly — these questions concerned him as well — but he felt as though he was intruding on something private, not least because Mihas obviously wasn’t as serene about everything as he’d seemed earlier. It was a tendency he had, Loran had noticed: in trying to focus on the positives of a situation, he kept his less-than-positive feelings too deeply hidden. While Loran didn’t like to see him in distress, he did wish Mihas could have confidence in him, enough to not feel that need to bury things.

He curled up on the sofa, back underneath the blanket, and went through his messages. There were no interview requests to process. To his eternal gratitude, the Scheduling Office were doing the work of turning them away.  
  
Adar had sent him a copy of their father’s official statement. A glance showed that it was short and uninviting, as it should be to deflect press attention, and referred to Mihas as the Marquess of Istesi. It was as though the king wanted to forget as much as it was possible to forget about the whole affair; the more he could relegate to the “never happened” category, the better. Loran couldn’t fault him for that.  
  
Lastly, there was a message from Keo, addressed to both Loran and Mihas. The attached photo was a striking one, a panorama of the Laretian white-sand beach at sunrise.  
  
_Got up especially early to take this. Conditions were ideal_. _But more importantly, ????????????_

Loran chuckled as he read the subsequent message: _Are you fleeing the country? Do you need a place to stay? Seriously._ He was mostly amused at the idea of fleeing with Mihas, only to sleep on the floor of Keo’s photography studio or on the beach itself, but he was relieved as well that his friendship with Keo was more or less intact despite everything.  
  
On the other hand, now that he was more clear-minded than he’d been the last few days, Loran couldn’t help thinking about _everything_ , especially the fact that of the two of them, Keo had usually been the one to turn heads. There was no reason to think the same effect hadn’t applied to Mihas, making Loran’s attractive qualities dull in comparison. There was no reason to think the effect had disappeared along with Keo’s physical proximity.  
  
He was saved from getting mired in these thoughts by Mihas re-entering the room. Instead of just flopping down on the sofa where there was space, he bent to kiss Loran — three long, lingering kisses with his hands grasping at Loran’s shirt. Loran leaned back to give him more space, and Mihas ended up on top of him, a leg on either side of his waist.  
  
“What was that for?”  
  
“For?” Mihas repeated. “I just did it because…I can. Is that not…”  
  
“No, no, I - ” Loran struggled to find the words, rarely for him, as the admiration in Mihas’ eyes seemed to punch all the air from his lungs. “You’re right. You can.”

They stayed where they were, Mihas stretched out on top with his head tucked under Loran’s chin. Neither of them spoke at first, instead letting contentment sink deep into their bones.  
  
“How did it go?” Loran asked after a delicious few minutes. He hated to ruin the moment, but the conversation had to be had.  
  
“It was challenging. But I expected that.”  
  
“I listened to part of it,” Loran admitted. “It didn’t sound like you were really being heard.”  
  
“No. Well, it wasn’t that she didn’t hear me, more that she didn’t accept what she heard. Ros is...pragmatic. Her position is that I came out of this basically unscathed, with more than I had before, so it’s unnecessary for me to complain.” Mihas sighed, then smiled against Loran’s chest. “I mean, she’s not entirely wrong.”  
  
Loran stiffened. He knew Mihas was light-heartedly praising their marriage, praising _him_ , but it felt undeserved. “It still wasn’t right.”  
  
“I’m not saying it was. But I do see it from their perspective as well. They didn’t want the affair dredged up again after fifty years of mostly pretending it didn’t happen. I think some of them genuinely forgot, and I hope that’s the case, to be honest.”  
  
“Why’s that?”  
  
Mihas reached out to hold Loran’s hand; he seemed to be in need of reassurance. “The thought keeps coming back to me — what if my mother was treated differently, badly? Ros says she wasn’t, but there’s no way for me to know, and I just...hate the idea.”  
  
Loran pulled him in close with both arms and held him, pressing gentle kisses to the top of his head. There wasn’t much that Loran could say that would be reassuring, but he could give comfort this way.  
  
Mihas had just finished relaxing into it when Loran’s phone rang, startling them into sitting up.  
  
“Hi, Mum.”  
  
“Hello, darling.” The Duchess noticed Mihas next to Loran and gave a little wave. “Are you both all right? Is there anything I can do?” she asked without delay.  
  
Loran grimaced, remembering the last time they’d spoken; he could only imagine how worried she was. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. It’s been hectic.”  
  
“But we’re absolutely fine,” Mihas chimed in.  
  
“If you’re sure.” The Duchess seemed to be considering their faces, which they’d pressed close together so that both of them would show fully on the screen. “Anyway, darling, I also wanted to tell you that I’ll see you next month in Helosia.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“I’ve been invited by your Aunt Ros,” she continued, now addressing Mihas. “As a gesture to your new husband’s family, she said.”  
  
Mihas reached down to rest a hand on Loran’s knee. “That was nice of her.”  
  
“Yes, I thought it was lovely. Now, if I could ask you a question — what sort of clothing is appropriate for the climate?”  
  
“Most people wear fur coats for being outdoors, especially within the castle grounds,” Mihas answered promptly. “It doesn’t have to be real fur — synthetic is more popular now, actually — but it should be thick, and at least knee-length.”  
  
Loran looked at him in surprise, half wondering if he was joking, but there was no sign of that.  
  
“Thank you. Darling, have you got one already?”  
  
“Er...” Loran quickly turned back to face the screen. “Not yet.”  
  
“Well, don’t leave it too late.“  
  
After they’d said their goodbyes and _We’ll see you really soon_ s, Loran turned to Mihas again. “Were you serious about the fur coat?”  
  
Mihas looked puzzled. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I have been?”  
  
“Oh.” Loran was unused to extreme weather, and his wardrobe reflected that; the rare freak snowstorm didn’t warrant owning a heavy coat. “I didn’t know.”  
  
“It’s cold there. I’ll lend you one of mine.” Mihas laughed at Loran’s shocked expression. “Yes, I have more than one. I’m glad I convinced Edi it was a good idea to bring them.”  
  
Loran leaned in to kiss him, tugging at his shirt until they were back in their earlier position. “Speaking of good ideas, do people ever go without anything underneath?”  
  
This time, Mihas’ laughter vibrated through Loran’s body as well. “No! Not if they want to keep their important bits.”  
  
“That’s too bad.”

 

\---

They held hands as they walked around the room, noting with amusement that a few of the children were wrinkling their noses at the sight. Most of them were young, enthusiastic about spending the afternoon in the bright, open art studio, and seemed to see Mihas and Loran as pleasant background attractions. Neither of them minded; they weren’t there to intrude or to teach protocol.  
  
At one table, an inquisitive group asked Mihas where he was from, how long he’d been living in Tremaros, and whether he ever got to go home.  
  
“I’m going soon for my - for the king’s birthday,” Mihas answered, and added, “And Loran is going with me. Isn’t that right?” with a smile at his husband.  
  
Loran grinned back. “Of course. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”  
  
“How old is the king?”  
  
“He’ll be ninety.”  
  
“Wow,” the children chorused, wide-eyed.  
  
“Did you make a birthday card for him?” one of them asked. “See, I’m making one for my dad. He liked them. Now I take them to his memory house.”  
  
“Oh, well, er,” Mihas hesitated, his heart going out to the little boy. “Not yet. But I should.”  
  
“I could help,” the boy offered. “After I finish Dad’s. It can be a _big_ one, since he’s the king.”  
  
“Yeah!” the girl next to him exclaimed. “We can all help. We’ll draw a _really big_ picture of him. What does he look like?”  
  
Mihas had to hold back tears as he watched the card — really a portrait the size of a desk — come together. He’d provided a full-length photo from his phone as a reference, but the children were more creative; the final product was a fairly good likeness of King Iles’ face perched on the body of an ocean-blue, ice shard-breathing sea dragon surrounded by icebergs. It was a work of art that wouldn’t look out of place in the Museum of Helosian Culture, and it had all come from the sincerity of children who reminded him of his younger self —working valiantly through loss, but always with a thread of sadness in their optimism.  
  
“This is…” He stopped and took several deep breaths as he gazed at the card. “This is wonderful. Thank you.”  
  
“You should be very proud,” Loran added, his grip on Mihas’ hand firm and comforting. “The king will love it.”  
  
“Are you sure?” someone in the sea of beaming faces asked. “Is it too weird?”  
  
“It’s _unusual_ , and that can only be a good thing,” Loran replied confidently. “Much, much better than an office bird.”  
  
Mihas, lost for words, chuckled as he bent to shake the children’s paint-covered hands one by one.

 

“Thank you for your visit, Your Highness.” The organiser of the event bowed as he spoke to Loran, then turned to Mihas. “And thank you as always, Your H - My Lord.”  
  
Mihas took care to not let any reaction show on this face. “It was our pleasure. I’ll see to it that the children receive some sort of acknowledgement from His Majesty.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Loran searching his face, but he didn’t want to discuss it until they were alone.  
  
They spent the first few minutes of their journey homeward in silence. When Loran broke it by asking, “Did it bother you?” Mihas was ready to answer.  
  
“No.” He was telling the truth; his change of status didn’t bother him. The reminder of all that had brought it about, on the other hand…“I can’t let things like that affect me. I’m in no position to complain.” He rested his head on Loran’s shoulder and laced their fingers together.  
  
Loran didn’t look convinced. “I mean, your title doesn’t matter to me, obviously,” he said, unusually tentative. “But you know you can talk to me about anything that’s…not to your liking.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Mihas did know. However, his first priority when it came to Loran was navigating their new relationship. He preferred to focus on being newly happily married instead of paying too much mind to the messier aspects of his earlier life. Loran deserved that much, and — he dared to think — so did he.

 

The bedroom felt cosy, heated by the sunlight that had been allowed to stream in through the windows since dawn. Loran went to draw the curtains, leaving Mihas to switch on the low-light lamp next to the door.  
  
“It’s good to be home,” he said, almost to himself, as he began to undress.  
  
Loran made a noise of agreement. “It’s also good to come home together.”  
  
That made Mihas look up. There had been several moments like this, when Loran had made some small complimentary remark and he’d had to stop and replay it to himself. He wasn’t quite used to it yet — Loran showing him affection in this way, relating to him as a lover outside the bedroom as well as inside it.

“May I?”  
  
Loran had come back to stand in front of him. When he nodded, strong, warm hands slid under his loose collar and onto his shoulders before moving down to undo the rest of his buttons. He closed his eyes and let it happen, entrusting himself to his husband’s touch, until a sudden, searing kiss made him gasp and press his body up against Loran’s.  
  
He kept up the pressure all the way to the bed, only relenting to let Loran lie down at the foot while he remained standing, bent over just enough to stare into his husband’s eyes. He believed he could (as overused as the description was) lose himself in them for days, but not this time; this time, Loran was urging him closer and wrapping his legs around him and murmuring, “You’re so...”  
  
He briefly wondered what the next word was supposed to be before the space was filled with soft pleas instead, then with moans as he listened to the pleas. It was when their eyes chanced to meet, just before his knees buckled and he half-collapsed on top of Loran, that he thought he could guess.  
  
He’d been gazed upon with desire before — Keo had been wonderfully open about that — but what he saw was more, more than could have been expressed in a single compliment.  
  
Fortunately, Loran was in a sharing mood, and it was infectious. “Do you remember when we first met?” he asked in a low, sleep-drunk voice as they lay facing each other, their breaths coming fast.  
  
“Yes.” Mihas looked down sheepishly, heat spreading across his cheeks. “I _think_ I managed to say hello instead of the first thing that came to mind.”  
  
“Why, what was it?”  
  
“I really almost said it out loud. ‘You’re even better-looking in person.’ I mean, I’ve been assuming I didn’t say it.”  
  
Loran, who’d looked slightly startled at the admission, let out a quiet laugh. “You didn’t. I didn’t say what I thought, either — I couldn’t. Couldn’t find the words.”  
  
“What did you think?”  
  
“I still can’t find the words. This - ” He took one of Mihas’ hands in both of his and brought it up to his heart. Mihas inhaled sharply at the relentless strength of the beat, still pounding away after their bodies and sheets had cooled.  
  
_I love you._

The thought sprang unbidden from his own thumping heart. He looked at Loran’s lazy smile, the way his eyelids were starting to fall closed, and thought, _Not now._

 _Or ever._ Mihas finally had the kind of relationship he’d wished for with Loran; he didn’t need to get hung up on the exact nature of Loran’s feelings. He had dreamt of hearing it spoken and saying it in return, of course, but it wasn’t essential. They were already married, after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Loran took an involuntary step back from the mirror. “Well, that’s certainly...”

He watched as his reflection brought its lips together, afraid of causing offence by saying he thought he looked ridiculous.  
  
“You’re just not accustomed to it.” Mihas reached over and gently slid the fur-lined hood off Loran’s head. “I think it looks good on you. Then again, I’m biased.”  
  
It took Loran a few seconds to recognise the compliment for what it was. He was usually quick to pick up on such things, but hearing them from Mihas was novel, and his head did tend to go fuzzy when they were together. “You probably are biased,” he replied, smiling at their reflections. “But I’ll take you at your word.”  
  
It was a relief to shrug off the coat and return it to Mihas, who handled it as deftly as if it was made of light silk instead of an entire lion’s worth of synthetic fur. Loran sat down on the bed, feeling considerably less burdened, and waited for Mihas to join him with his tablet in hand for the next item on their agenda.  
  
“You know, you really don’t have to learn every single one of their faces.”  
  
“I should make some effort, though.” The first photo was easy — King Iles and Queen Etir, posing together on their 60th wedding anniversary. Loran had seen pictures of them before, but the king’s shock of white hair and beard was a surprise every time. He looked like he should be on the cover of an adventure novel, not holed up deep inside a castle giving orders.  
  
The queen was tall and thin and severe-faced; it was difficult to imagine her being involved in even a minor scandal, let alone an affair with her brother-in-law.  
  
The next photo showed an older woman, sat on a chair flanked by younger adults. “Ros and her kids, Sador and Mari,” Mihas explained, pointing out each person in turn.  
  
“I thought Ros was married, or have I got that wrong?”  
  
“She was, to the Duke of...Nictori, I think, but he died when I was ten or so. He was much older than Ros.” Mihas gave Loran some time to try and memorise faces before he moved on. “And this is my Uncle Luko...”  
  
By the fifth or sixth photo, Loran began to regret insisting on making an effort. Mihas’ family was large — his mother had been the youngest of eight children — and with virtually every living member expected to attend the banquet, Loran would never be able to connect names to faces for the majority.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Mihas kept reassuring him. “Sometimes even I have trouble keeping everybody straight.”  
  
Loran conceded defeat by flopping onto his back on the bed. “I believe you.”

“I could tell you who everyone is as we go, or I could try, anyway. It’s been ages since I’ve seen some of them.”  
  
“Maybe you should study too,” Loran teased, turning over onto his stomach.  
  
“Maybe.” Mihas lay down next to him so that their heads were nearly touching. “We could concentrate on aunts and uncles and take our chances with cousins.”  
  
“What if - ” Loran was about to suggest a sexual reward system of some sort — cliché, but potentially effective — when the notification of a message from Edi, titled _I thought you should be informed_ , temporarily obscured the screen. “That might be important.”  
  
“Yes.” Mihas turned away for a moment to read the message. When he was finished, he sighed and pulled something up on the tablet. “Look,” he told Loran in a subdued tone.  
  
Twin spots of embarrassment bloomed on Loran’s cheeks as he recognised what he was looking at: selected clippings from “his” subsection of a well-known royal gossip forum. He didn’t remember the section being so active, but then it had been a long time since he’d last given in to curiosity and glanced over the discussions.  
  
A small but noticeable portion expressed sympathy for Gerei and his cause. Loran thought they rather overemphasised the revenge aspect, painting Gerei as something other than the deeply unpleasant person he was, but spending any more time thinking about him would be a waste. A still smaller portion expressed sympathy for Mihas and speculated on how well he might be coping.  
  
The vast majority of the clipped comments, however, were focused on enumerating reasons that the marriage should be annulled, most prominent among them Mihas’ “unsuitability”.  
  
_Of course I won’t deny that M THOUGHT he was a prince. He’s had the same education and training that princes get...until now. Gaps will start to show._ _  
_  
_They already have B with someone who’s not a prince or princess but at least her children are. L may be the youngest but he’s still ninth in line! Ridiculous to keep abandoning tradition._

_I wouldn’t be surprised if M‘s got his hooks in L and made it so L can’t escape._

“Well, that last one’s not far from the truth.” Loran realised before he finished the sentence that his joke would fall flat. “I’m sorry. What I’m trying to say is...”  
  
“I know,” Mihas said, voice still quiet. He seemed to be struggling with maintaining a calm expression; his mouth was a hard line, his eyes fixed on a point slightly above Loran’s head.  
  
Loran found himself wishing, once again, that his husband wouldn’t hide his negative emotions from him. “You and I both know these are utter nonsense,” he said, taking hold of Mihas’ free hand. “But if it ever gets too much, it’s not too late.”  
  
“Too late?”  
  
“To go somewhere else. We can always find that remote horse farm, or we could even take Keo up on his offer, get away from all this.”  
  
Mihas said nothing as he redirected his gaze to Loran’s face and kept it there, apparently considering the suggestions. When he finally opened his mouth again, it wasn’t to talk about himself, but to reassure Loran. “It was never going to be a serious thing between me and Keo. I think...I hope you know that.”  
  
Loran felt strangely annoyed at the way tension leaked out of his own shoulders — of course it wasn’t serious, Mihas was serious about _him_ — but no; _never going to be_ was different, something he needed to hear. “I know you’re lumbered with me now,” he said lightly. “I think I can bear a little awkwardness if it comes to that.”  
  
One corner of Mihas’ mouth turned up beautifully. It wasn’t quite a full smile, but it was a start. “Let’s go back to studying.”

 

\---

Somewhere around hour three of the flight, the surreality of it started to sink in: Mihas had only to look to his right to see his husband, dozing in a comfortable slouch against his arm and shoulder. He gave Loran’s hand a cautious squeeze, just to check.  
  
It seemed implausible that he’d travelled on the same flight with high hopes and had them crushed, and that mere weeks previously, he’d been resigned to spending this trip home trying to crush new hopes that kept bursting into existence when they were in close quarters. Yet he didn’t regret the imperfect journey that had brought him to this moment, where he could feel Loran’s slow breathing practically under his own skin.  
  
He knew Loran had regrets, some of them powerful. Loran had been so afraid of losing him underneath the façade he’d managed to put up, and that fear was still alive, simmering somewhere below the surface and occasionally rearing its head. Although Mihas was happy to finally have the solid marriage he’d wished for, he hadn’t bargained for the way his husband considered himself so very fortunate to be with him. It felt like too much, sometimes, but all he could do was throw himself into building a happy present and future with Loran. That was the way to deal with the hurt and uncertainty until they faded away.  
  
Across the aisle, Minister Hairad was also dozing, albeit with a more dignified posture. Her cane glistened in the sunlight coming through the windows, suddenly reminding Mihas of their first meeting. He had been a child of eight who perceived every person above thirty as “old”; for that reason, the cane hadn’t registered as anything unusual, and he’d admired the intricate designs on its surface.  
  
He knew better now — the Minister was no older than seventy, and her legs had been affected by an illness in her youth. At her retirement party, she’d officially introduced him to his future colleagues and taken the time to explain his role as community liaison in depth. Hearing Mihas’ gentle protests, she’d told him with a rueful little laugh that this was her last act as his or anyone’s superior. She really did want to rest, which was why she’d decided to retire and return home.  
  
“If it’s not too bold of me to say, I’m not sure why you’d choose perpetual winter over what we have here,” he’d joked. “It makes me a bit worried that I’ll eventually get tired of living here as well.”  
  
“Climate is rarely the sole factor in these decisions,” she’d replied with a smile, and then moved on to the next topic, leaving Mihas to wonder what the other factors might be.

He stretched as well as he could with Loran’s head weighing down his shoulder. They had a long way to go, and Edi had promised to wake him toward the end to discuss the trip; he needed to get what rest he could now.  
  
He awoke some hours later to find that they’d switched positions. When he stirred, Loran murmured a _Good morning_ and pressed a kiss into his hair, eyes still on the screen in front of them.  
  
“How are you getting on?” Mihas asked sleepily.  
  
“I think I’ll cope. With your help, of course.” The eyes in the many faces on the screen stared back at them, unblinking. “You know, I was thinking — if I can identify people from the big group photo, that means I’ve done reasonably well.”  
  
“There I am.” Mihas pointed to a small, scowling child near the outer edge of the group. He had been five or so, long hair brushed to severe perfection and dressed in an outfit that had belonged to some long-gone ancestor. “This must have been right around the time I met Edi.”  
  
“If you’re referring to the frilly shirt picture, you‘re right,” Edi remarked as she approached. “Do you remember when you begged me to cut your hair and pretend it was an accident?”  
  
“I can’t say I do. Sorry.”  
  
“You should be! I could have been thrown in the Child Offenders’ Centre for that. Anyway, if you could...”  
  
Loran switched off the tablet, Mihas sat up, and they turned simultaneously to properly face Edi. Mihas couldn’t help chuckling to himself at the way they moved as one; this also was surreal, but lovely. Incredibly lovely.  
  
“As you know, it will be near lunchtime when we arrive. You’re to dine with Ros and possibly a few other people, but after that, you’ll have a couple of hours to rest and get ready for the banquet — that is, unless you’d like a moment beforehand to speak to the king and queen privately.”  
  
Suddenly nervous, Mihas reached out to grasp Loran’s hand. He had had a few brief conversations with his grandmother, but they’d both avoided the topic of the affair and subsequent deceptions. Delving into the painful and the scandalous wasn’t done in their family, and he also knew not to expect deep emotion or reassurances that he was loved regardless of everything. It was easier to stick to _I hope your conduct as a representative of our country has been exemplary_ and things of that nature.  
  
“I don’t know what to say to either of them,” he’d whispered to Loran as they‘d lain awake in bed, not sure why he was whispering. “ _Hello, Your Majesty, I suppose I can’t call you ‘Grandfather’ anymore. It’s wonderful to see you, Grandmother, have you had any more affairs lately?_ ”  
  
“There must be a middle ground between that and pretending nothing’s happened.”  
  
“I know, I know.” Mihas had taken comfort in rubbing his cheek against Loran’s shoulder and getting his arm caressed in return. “Better to get it over with early, I suppose.”  
  
“I would like a moment,” he told Edi. “I know they won’t be able to spare more than a few minutes, which is probably for the best.”  
  
She nodded. “I understand.”

 

\---

The cold air sliced across the exposed portion of Loran’s face like a series of tiny daggers. He inhaled sharply and pulled the hood of his coat tighter, trying his best to keep his eyes functioning as he took in the sight of the castle.  
  
They’d landed somewhere near the vertical middle of the hill. From the stone bridge that would lead them inside, he could see fur-clad figures bustling around on the wider paths below. Above their heads, the thinner top part of the structure gleamed in the early sunlight, made almost blinding by the surrounding snow. It was beautiful, but in an austere sort of way — he could easily picture Mihas yearning to escape its confines to live out his youth elsewhere.  
  
Inside the narrow stone doors, there remained the hint of a chill in the air despite the heating system. Loran felt reluctant to remove his coat as the others were doing, but the last thing he needed to do as a representative of his family was to give an unflattering impression.  
  
Ros was waiting for them at the entrance to the dining room, flanked by her two children like she’d been in the photo. As the highest-ranking member of their party, Loran stepped forward first to greet her with a single kiss on the cheek, just as Mihas had taught him. While he moved on to Sador and Mari, Mihas followed suit. Loran noticed that there were no hugs or anything else extra between Mihas and his relatives; they didn’t seem given to expressing closeness, if closeness existed here.  
  
“Your Highness.”  
  
“Minister.”  
  
Ros’ gaze appeared to be lingering on the Minister after they’d greeted one another. Strange, Loran thought, when her eyes hadn’t followed her nephew the same way, but perhaps it was only his imagination.  
  
The table had been set for seven. Loran looked curiously at the unoccupied seat to his right. It couldn’t be for Edi, and in any case, she had disappeared into the shadows of the corridor. “Do you know who might be sitting there?” he asked Mihas in a low voice.  
  
Mihas opened his mouth to answer, but broke into a smile instead upon noticing something. “Look,” he said, turning toward the entrance.  
  
Loran looked, and saw his mother standing there, resplendent in a gown of blue silk. “Mum!” he exclaimed, startling their hosts — not that it mattered. He could be forgiven for being happy to see his mother.  
  
As soon as she’d finished the required greetings, the Duchess floated over to embrace him. “My sweet boy,” she whispered so that no one else could hear. “It’s so good to see you.”  
  
“I know you were worried,” he whispered back, hearing the concern implicit in her words. ”But there’s no need, I promise.”  
  
Mihas got a hug as well; he seemed somewhat shocked, but pleased as the Duchess looked him over, evidently checking for signs of discontent.  
  
As they broke apart, Ros cleared her throat. “Shall we sit?” When they were all seated, she nodded at the servant who’d been stationed next to the door. “Aneka, the first course, please.”  
  
“Yes, Your Highness.”

 

The polite small-talk topics exhausted themselves during the second course. In fact, Loran could pinpoint the exact moment that all conversation in the room ceased: just as the last drop of flower wine in his glass hit his tongue.  
  
He glanced at his mother over the rim of the glass before he put it down. They were both decent conversationalists, but the atmosphere of the group made it difficult to carry on. Their hosts seemed to have some sort of concern weighing on their minds and making them less than brilliant at engaging with their visitors.  
  
Luckily, after an excruciating minute or so of silence, a servant materialised next to Loran. “More wine, Your Highness?” he asked, almost whispering; perhaps he, too, sensed that something was amiss.  
  
“Yes, please,” Loran answered just to have something to say. He wanted to keep a clear head for later.  
  
“You must have missed this,” Mari said very suddenly, making him look up only to see that she was addressing the Minister. “I understand that the chancery in Tremaros is quite a bit less elaborate in structure.”  
  
The Minister gave her a benign smile. “Architectural style is a function of culture — and climate, I believe. One adapts.”  
  
“An essential ability in a diplomat,” Ros chimed in.  
  
“Quite so, Your Highness. Thank you.”  
  
Sador coughed. “That may be, but it is a bit strange, isn’t it,” he said, eyes pointed toward the ceiling, “that you should now choose to undo all those years of adaptation.”  
  
Loran looked over at Mihas for guidance. Their group seemed to have divided into two camps — or rather three, with Mari and Sador watching Ros and Minister Hairad like birds of prey circling their next victim, and the rest on the outside. But Mihas shook his head; he appeared lost as well.  
  
“Adaptation occurs in both directions, Your Highness. Isn’t that so, Your Grace?” the Minister added, looking over at the Duchess, who was visibly relieved to have a part in the conversation again.  
  
“Absolutely. In my experience, re-acclimatising after - ”  
  
“I don’t mean to be rude, Your Grace,” Mari interrupted — rudely, Loran thought — “but the Minister’s circumstances and motivations bear few similarities to those of your travels.”  
  
The Minister raised her chin ever so slightly. “And what ‘motivations’ would those be?”  
  
“Ula.”  
  
At the softly spoken name, no utensils clattered onto any plates, but Sador gripped his wine glass just that little bit tighter, and Mari’s eyebrows disappeared up to her hairline. Loran exchanged confused looks with the Duchess, who gave a little shrug. The break in formality, though unusual, was hardly catastrophic.  
  
“Forgive me for interrupting,” Ros said as if she hadn’t uttered anything out of the ordinary. “Minister, would you care for more wine?”  
  
The Minister nodded, and Aneka glided over to her side to refill her glass.  
  
Mihas nudged Loran with his knee. “I’m so sorry about this,” he whispered. “I don’t know what’s got into them.”  
  
“It’s all right.” Loran decided that he had fulfilled his duty for this meal; it was doubtful that further attempts to socialise would succeed. “I’d rather talk to you. Do you think they’d notice if we left?”  
  
“We can’t leave!” Mihas bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud, much to Loran’s delight — it was a sight he’d grown to love. “But probably not.”

 

\---

The rest of the meal went quickly for Mihas, if only because he spent it on tenterhooks in case someone said something truly outrageous and caused a diplomatic incident.  
  
For better or for worse, the talk turned to the Duchess’ recent travels. She’d been staying on what she humbly called a houseboat, not far from the rainforest where Keo had worked briefly, and her tales of tropical animals and sea living kept Mihas’ relatives interested enough to not return to whatever they were stewing over.  
  
As to that, he couldn’t think why his cousins were acting rudely toward the Minister or what her retirement had to do with them. It was puzzling, but secretly a relief as well; he’d been nervous that his own recent problems would be brought up.  
  
After the last of the plates had been cleared away, Mari and Sador gave perfunctory excuses and left. Ros glared after them for a moment, then turned back to the room with a grave expression. “I apologise for my children’s behaviour. At their age, they should know better, and yet...”  
  
“Thank you for lunch. It was delicious,” Loran said easily. “But we really should go now to settle in and to prepare for the rest of the day.”  
  
“Yes, of course. Mihas, I would like a word.”  
  
Mihas reluctantly left Loran’s side and followed his aunt into the antechamber, which was as cold and gloomy as ever. Once the adjoining door had been shut, Ros gestured at him to sit on one of the chairs lining the walls. She herself sat down three chairs away and clasped her hands in her lap, apparently taking some time to consider her words.  
  
“I wasn’t planning on informing you of this,” she said at length. “But it would have been difficult to hide. His Majesty’s health has been in decline for some time.”  
  
Mihas felt his back stiffening at _for some time_. He hadn’t noticed anything of the sort before he’d left.  
  
“As you know, he believes that to abdicate would be to shirk his duty as monarch, and it has not been easy to minimise his stress. I only ask that you not add unnecessarily to it.”  
  
“I...understand.”  
  
“Good. That’s all.”  
  
Mihas knew he wouldn’t get any details out of Ros about what specific health concerns the king had outside of old age. He followed her silently out of the room, trailing two steps behind, and joined Loran at the main entrance; the others had already taken their leave.  
  
“Everything all right?” Loran asked, putting a comforting hand on his back.  
  
A steward was walking toward them, presumably to escort them to their lodgings. “I’ll tell you later. Shall we?”  
  
They were to stay in Mihas’ old room, which was halfway to the other side of the castle. As they made the journey along the stone floor, they stayed far enough behind the steward to keep their conversation private.  
  
“I’d like to get some more rest before the banquet, if I’m honest, but it’s very unlikely that we’ll have time.”  
  
“What if we skipped part of the pre-dinner drinks? We could take a few minutes to nap. Or to do something else?”  
  
It was a tempting offer, but Mihas shook his head, colour spreading across his face at his own thought: ”No. I want to show you off.”  
  
Loran opened his lips as if to say something, but seemed to change his mind; instead, he ducked his head, smiling from ear to ear.

 

The last time Mihas had stood before the king and queen in their drawing room, they’d summoned him to inform him of his impending marriage. It was strange, watching what he’d imagined then unfolding now before his eyes: his husband formally introducing himself, saving Mihas from having to present him, and exchanging greetings with them before stepping back and glancing at him as if to ask, “Did I do well?”  
  
And he had. He drew a fond smile from the queen and a not-unfavourable nod from the king.  
  
Mihas tried to examine the king’s appearance without being obvious. Hugging his grandmother — carefully, due to his fear of snapping a bone in her increasingly frail body — gave him the best opportunity, and he felt a stab of guilt at his heart as he noticed his grandfather (he had trouble not thinking of the king as that) looking thinner and paler than his most recent memory of him. He’d had a slight tremor in his hands for as long as Mihas could remember, but was it worse than before? He was almost certain it was worse.  
  
On the other hand, it was also possible that he’d failed to notice what was already there because he’d been too focused on dodging scrutiny.  
  
At his “Happy birthday, Your Majesty”, the king drew in a quiet breath before thanking him and accepting his gift, which had been framed and packaged with care. Mihas let Loran take the lead in explaining its origins, allowing himself some time to reflect.  
  
For most of his life, he’d known the king as a stern figure who was too close and too distant at the same time, who had high expectations and an exacting approach to raising children and grandchildren. Yet he also had memories, mere faded fragments now, of sitting in the king’s lap to have books read to him, and of scurrying to hide behind his grandparents’ legs when he felt embarrassed or scared. It hadn’t all been streams of criticism.  
  
“...letter of gratitude,” the king was saying, his eyes tracing the children’s signatures at the bottom of the painting. “But I shouldn’t keep such a wonderful object to myself. Perhaps the Museum of Culture will find a place for it.”  
  
“I think you should keep it, Grandfather,” Mihas found himself saying. “The children will be happier knowing that you like it enough to hold on to it.”  
  
No one seemed to have taken notice of his slip. The king beheld him for a moment, then inclined his head. “You’re right. Thank you, Mihas.”  
  
The rest of the brief meeting was spent on an interaction typical of them — Mihas listening to his grandparents as they took turns instructing him on his new job. His title and adjacency to the royal family was irrelevant except where it might step on his colleagues’ toes; as a member of the nobility, he would have to take care to be unassuming; at the same time, he was expected to do his family credit by excelling at his work.  
  
Loran contributed where he could, mostly by patting Mihas’ hand or knee in a comforting way. His open display of affection wasn’t remarked upon by the king and queen as Mihas thought it might be, but then again, Loran was different in that he wasn’t their responsibility.  
  
They parted company pleasantly enough, promising to speak again at the banquet. Mihas took hold of Loran’s hand as they left the room and led him to a nearby alcove, where they sat down on a (thankfully cushioned) window-seat.  
  
“So that wasn’t terrible,” Loran said, brushing his lips over Mihas’ cheek.  
  
“No,” Mihas agreed. “They like you.”  
  
“It probably wasn’t the right venue to discuss certain topics.”  
  
“I don’t think we ever will discuss them.” That had been Mihas’ assumption for awhile, and now he was sure. “There are some things I’m curious about, but...if they don’t want to revisit the past, I can’t force them.”  
  
There were many things he was curious about: What had brought about the affair, why the marriage had remained intact while Ondros had been exiled, why the king had raised his mother as one of his own children. However, Mihas also knew that it wasn’t in anyone’s best interest for him to go poking around in painful decisions that had been made half a century previously. His curiosity would have to go unsatisfied, and he could live with that. He had to.  
  
“There is one thing that puzzles me,” Loran said, his tone careful. “I know it doesn’t matter in any real way, but it seems that your mother was part of the line of succession just as if nothing was amiss. Unless she legally wasn’t?”  
  
Mihas shrugged. “As you say, it doesn’t matter. It never has mattered. I mean,” he added with a little laugh, “even if the throne somehow came round to me, I wouldn’t take it.”  
  
Loran laughed too and put an arm around Mihas’ shoulders. “You’d stay with me?”  
  
“Obviously.”

 

\---

Loran nodded politely to his mother’s attendants as they left the room, noting that they were dressed only in thin, single-layer garments. The very sight sent a shiver through his body.  
  
“Darling, where have you left your coat?”  
  
“In our room,” he replied, surprised. “It’s hardly appropriate for indoors.”  
  
“If you feel cold, you should put it on.”  
  
“I’m fine, Mum. I mean, I’ll live.” Loran sat down on the bed next to her and draped a blanket over himself. ”I wouldn’t want to give the impression that I can’t handle a little change in climate.”  
  
The Duchess clicked her tongue in a mildly disapproving way.

“Or that I’m implying anything negative about my husband’s home country.“  
  
Loran heard his own voice softening as he spoke of Mihas, and his mother noticed it as well. “I’m so glad that you and Mihas are happy,” she said, reaching out to pat him on the back. “I know you had reservations at first, but it seems to be going smoothly.”  
  
“I still have reservations. About the way marriages are done in our family, that is,” he clarified. “Not about Mihas. Sometimes I think...”  
  
“Think what?” she prompted him gently when he didn’t finish the sentence.  
  
“I think none of it has been fair on him. Just like it wasn’t fair on you.”  
  
“Loran, you know your father and I were - ”  
  
“I know. You were terribly ill-matched from the start. But the same could just as easily have happened with us.”  
  
The idea of Mihas being miserable with him gripped painfully at his heart. He tried not to think about it too often, but knowing that their compatibility was purely a matter of luck weighed heavily on him. “Anyway, enough about me,” he said, reluctant to linger on that topic. “How about you? Anyone special in your life?”  
  
“Have I met the love of my life in the few weeks since we last spoke?”  
  
“Mum.”  
  
“No, no one. Be fair, darling. I could hardly have found the time while I was out on the boat.”  
  
“I just want you to be happy.”  
  
The Duchess laughed, and Loran did as well; they’d had this same conversation too many times to count. “I know that. And perhaps someday...but at this point in time, I’m content with what I have.”  
  
Loran continued to ponder his mother’s future as he made his way back. She’d had dalliances, none leading to anything serious; her past as Queen Consort seem to put suitors off, even as the years went by and her connection to it continued to fade except where her son was concerned. The unfairness of it angered him, but there was little he could do other than hope for her to eventually find love as she wanted.  
  
He started as a darkened corridor came into view. He must have taken a wrong turn while lost in thought; he needed to stop and work out where. As he took in the surroundings, a familiar voice made itself heard from an alcove further down.  
  
“...remind you that this was not in my plans,” it said.  
  
“I remember,” said another, vaguely familiar voice.  
  
“Do you?” the first replied. “Then I’m surprised that you would question my commitment. After that display, it’s become apparent that yours should be called into question.”  
  
Loran inched closer quietly, curious to see who the pair were; an inkling was beginning to take shape, but he wanted to confirm for himself.  
  
A part of him was still surprised to see Ros stood in front of Minister Hairad with her head bowed as if in contrition. The Minister was seated, her cane in front of her acting as a barrier between them.  
  
“I am committed,” Ros said, her voice almost at a whisper. “I wouldn’t have asked you to come home otherwise.“  
  
“And I wouldn’t have said yes otherwise.” The Minister stood up and moved closer to Ros. “I seem to recall you telling me that I would no longer be your secret.”  
  
“You won’t.”  
  
Loran remembered then that he was meant to be going back to his and Mihas’ room to get ready for the banquet. He retraced his steps, hurrying as much as he could without making noise, and mentally replayed what he’d heard over and over so he would recall it later. There was no time to analyse it now; he hoped Mihas could help him with that.

 

“Sorry I’m late, I...”  
  
Loran lost track of what he was saying as Mihas half-tackled him into a hug. They held each other for a long while, long enough that Loran felt his body thawing and becoming warm enough for him to feel up to changing his clothes.  
  
“You looked like you needed it,” Mihas explained, putting a hand on Loran’s cheek when they released each other. “It’ll be warmer in the Grand Hall with all those people, at least.”  
  
Loran leaned forward to give him a kiss before walking over to the wardrobe, where his outfit had been hung after steaming. He hadn’t worn the traditional brocade coat and black trousers since Teira’s naming ceremony, and the fabric felt stiff and unfamiliar on his body, although having Mihas’ appreciative gaze on him as he dressed went a long way toward helping him forget.  
  
He glanced at the tall golden clock through the mirror as he checked his reflection. “Since we’ve got a few minutes...” he began before instinctively looking around the room. “There’s something I want to tell you.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“I got lost on my way back, and I heard - well, I was eavesdropping,” he admitted.  
  
Mihas raised his eyebrows, looking amused. “Sounds scandalous.”  
  
“It actually might be.” Loran described what he’d seen and heard as concisely as he could, mindful of the time, and was rather glad to see from Mihas’ reaction that he wasn’t alone in feeling puzzled.  
  
“She definitely said that? That she wouldn’t be a secret anymore?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Wow.”  
  
“I expect your cousins have been informed and aren’t happy about it. Do you think your grandparents know?”  
  
“I don’t know. Ros did ask me not to add to the king’s stress. That might mean he knows and is unhappy as well.” Mihas scratched at the stubble along his jaw. “What I don’t understand is how they’ve managed to have a relationship. The Minister hardly ever came home. Unless...”  
  
“Do you think there might have been something before?” Loran glanced at the clock again; it was really time for them to leave, but they couldn’t exactly discuss what they were discussing elsewhere. “Maybe even before Ros’ husband died?”  
  
“It’s possible. I don’t remember much of him. From what I’ve heard, they weren’t - they got on adequately, and that was all. You know, not like us.”  
  
Loran felt his face heating up. He didn’t blush too easily as a rule, nor was he often left speechless, but Mihas was exceptional that way.


	7. Chapter 7

Once they were beyond the stately carved doors that separated their section of the castle from the rest, partygoers emerged from all sides to join the procession to the Grand Hall. Most of them were in pairs or small groups, some already tipsy and clutching their companions’ arms as as they walked.  
  
Loran managed courteous fleeting conversations with several of Mihas’ cousins and their families in quick succession. The sheer number of cousins meant he couldn’t place half of them despite his studying; fortunately, Mihas was there to whisper their names to him just before they had to begin speaking.  
  
It was a shining example of teamwork, he thought, feeling rather smug about it, as a long-haired woman strode her way to them. “Mihas!” she exclaimed, her voice carrying even amidst the crowd. “I was hoping to see you!”  
  
Loran turned his head a fraction toward Mihas, waiting for his husband to tell him her name, but Mihas hesitated. “That’s...wait.”  
  
“Wait?”  
  
Mihas shook his head minutely. “I need to - ” Loran followed his gaze past the cousin’s shoulder to see another woman also approaching them, looking like she would have hurried to catch up but for her dignity.  
  
“Oli!” Mihas greeted the cousin, who’d come up almost menacingly close. Loran noticed then that she held a bottle of blue spirit in her hand.  
  
“Mihas!” Oli repeated herself, giggling. “Lovely to see you.”  
  
“How are the girls?”  
  
“Pouting at home because their exams couldn’t be rescheduled. They send their love.”  
  
“Oh, well, that’s - ”  
  
“It’s a shame about your title, isn’t it? Mind you, there’s nothing wrong with one ‘Your Highness’ per household, as I know very well. Wouldn’t you agree, sweetheart?”  
  
Oli’s wife — Loran realised that was who the other woman must be, judging by their matching rings — cleared her throat uncomfortably. “We should go and find our seats before it’s too late,” she said, taking hold of Oli’s hand. “Mihas. Your Highness. Lovely to meet you.”  
  
“What do you mean, before it’s too late?”  
  
“We’ll see you soon, Kailin,” Mihas said quickly, emphasising the name for Loran’s benefit.  
  
They stopped for a moment, leaning hand in hand against a nearby wall, and watched as Kailin gently steered Oli away.  
  
“I wasn’t sure whether it was Oli or Dara,” Mihas explained, looking sheepish, when Loran asked what had happened.  
  
“Are they twins? I don’t recall there being twins.”  
  
“No, and it’s strange — they’re not even sisters, just cousins.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“They just look very alike, and they both like their drink...I always tell them apart by their families. Dara’s married to a Vorkysian duke — he was the one who sent that wine for our wedding, you know — and her children are both boys.”  
  
Loran tried to file that information away for later, but his head already felt too crammed with facts. “You’ll have to keep helping me, I’m afraid.”  
  
“I don’t mind,” Mihas replied, leaning over to give him a quick kiss which turned into three or four. “I appreciate you trying, anyway. Shall we?”

 

\----

Mihas had sat through many an event in the Grand Hall, but never before had he been allocated a proper seating section for him and his guests like an adult. On the occasions which Edi had been allowed to attend, she’d had to be added on like an afterthought to his little corner near the king and queen. It was very different this time, with his party placed a good distance away from the head table and Loran a constant presence by his side.  
  
The Duchess not having arrived yet, Edi moved her chair infinitesimally closer (any further would have broken protocol) and leaned over to speak to them both. “I heard people gossiping about what happened at lunch.”  
  
“Yes, well.” Mihas took a quick look around before leaning over as well. “I think we might know what was going on, or at least some of…oh.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ros enter the room, the fur-lined train of her gown sweeping along the floor. On the other side of her was Minister Hairad, and although he couldn’t see it clearly from where he was sitting, her hand appeared to be on Ros’ arm.  
  
No one announced their entrance. Mihas assumed that was a deliberate omission, and it seemed to have paid off; people weren’t taking notice of them as they made their way to Ros’ usual spot to the left of the head table.  
  
Edi observed them discreetly from behind her wine glass. “I can’t say I’m surprised,” she said, almost to herself, watching them take their seats.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“About lunch,” she clarified. “You know how uptight some of the family can be about background and breeding and all of that.”  
  
“What’s wrong with the Minister’s background?” Loran asked.  
  
“I think I’ve heard that she grew up poor, but...”  
  
“Very poor,” Edi supplied. “It’s the reason she couldn’t get better treatment when she got ill. I don’t imagine her career counts for much in certain people’s eyes.”  
  
Mihas felt a pang as he reflected on the situation. Although no one could be sure of the timeline of their relationship, it was possible they’d had one, or at least a mutual fondness, before Ros’ marriage, when the Minister would have been but a low-ranking government employee. The objections from all quarters would have been brutal, and in any case, Ros had been duty-bound to marry the person chosen by her parents. Having one’s marriage arranged for the greater good was something he’d accepted and looked forward to all his life, but then he’d had the luxury, he supposed, of having no prior attachments.  
  
He felt Loran’s hand warm on his thigh and looked up.  
  
“What are you thinking about?”  
  
Mihas tried to order his thoughts and hone in on the most important one. “I’m so glad I’m married to you,” he told his husband in a soft voice meant only for their ears.  
  
Loran said nothing, but he nodded, never taking his eyes off Mihas’ face until the heralds’ horns rang out to announce the king and queen.

Everyone in the room stood to show respect. Mihas’ eyes went to the king, who was walking with a great deal of caution, more than Mihas would have liked to see. He was vaguely aware that the other guests were murmuring, possibly just having noticed who was next to Ros, but his thoughts were taken up by how ancient both of his grandparents looked in the Hall’s lighting. Had they aged so rapidly in the last few months, or had he truly not noticed it while he was still living with them?  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
He nodded and squeezed Loran’s hand, keeping his eyes front. When the king made the customary gesture to signal that they should be seated, he glanced over to Ros and the Minister. They simultaneously bowed their heads to the king before they sat, their joined hands now visible to the whole room. At tables near theirs, both Sador and Mari were determinedly keeping their gazes on their spouses and children.  
  
As the first course was served, a steward standing guard just behind Loran opened a side door to wave the Duchess inside. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered as she slid into her seat. “What have I missed?”  
  
Edi, being the closest, leaned over to explain. Next to Mihas, Loran’s phone beeped; he took it out of his pocket, taking care not to be obvious about it, and showed it to Mihas under cover of the tablecloth. _Time for another playdate with their favourite uncles? ;),_ Eleana had written underneath a photo of Kori playing belly-down on the floor while Teira worked on a puzzle next to him.  
  
“We should see them again soon,” Mihas said as Loran stowed the phone away. He remembered the first time he and Loran had babysat, and the way he’d hoped against hope to spend more than just that portion of the night with his husband. It was so very different now — going to bed together every night they could, and having Loran waiting there for him or vice versa when they couldn’t.  
  
“We should. It’s been awhile.” Loran was about to say something else, but a deep, booming voice above their heads interrupted him: “Well, well, don’t _you_ look very grown up!”  
  
Mihas craned his neck to confirm who had spoken. It was, as he’d thought, a cousin of his grandmother’s who was a semi-regular guest at family gatherings, but he had to shrug when Loran looked to him for a name; he couldn’t remember it himself. Before he could try, the relative kept talking, this time addressing Loran: “I remember when this one was only as high as my knee and running around stealing chocolates from the servants’ cart. Now he’s a married man!”  
  
“Really? You didn’t tell me about your criminal history,” Loran joked easily. Mihas smiled despite himself as their eyes met and Loran gave him a surreptitious wink.  
  
“I remember when the first of my boys got married...”  
  
As the evening wore on, more relatives descended on them, some to gush over what a lovely couple they made, many to reminisce and give advice on marriage. Mihas found that he minded it less and less with Loran there to share a secret laugh with him (with occasional help from the Duchess, who turned out to be acquainted with quite a few of the well-wishers) as they fielded the questions and exclamations. By the time the desserts arrived, he was shrugging off even the veiled jabs concerning his downgrade in status with a chuckle; it was so trivial, really, compared to all the good in his life.  
  
They were halfway through their cakes when the king stood and signalled for quiet.  
  
“Thank you,” he said in a quavery voice once he had everyone’s attention. Mihas noticed with a sinking heart that he was leaning slightly forward to brace against the table. “We are grateful for today and for all those who have come from far and wide to celebrate with us.  
  
“These have been long years, fruitful ones, and I have had the good fortune to spend sixty-eight of them with my queen. I am also fortunate to have in Crown Princess Ros an heir in whom I have complete confidence.”

A murmur went through the crowd at that; the king wasn’t known for complimenting his children.

“I wish her and her consort happiness and a long reign.”

The murmur increased in volume until hardly any individual conversations were distinguishable. Meanwhile, the king returned to his chair, appearing remarkably calm. It was as though he’d risen above it all, too old and fatigued to be bothered any more about the gossip roaring through the room.  
  
Mihas was watching Dara, who was sobbing drunkenly (he thought he saw her saying “So romantic”), when Loran leaned in to whisper in his ear: “What would you say to a stroll?”

 

\---

Once they were far enough away from the Hall to be alone, they stopped in front of a window. Loran imagined that under different circumstances, they would have sneaked off to a balcony to get some air. With the wind howling outside and fat snowflakes swirling around the walls of the castle, however, that wasn’t an option.  
  
Mihas sighed and leaned in, putting his weight fully against Loran’s body. “Thank you for being here.”  
  
“Mm? Of course I’m here,” Loran replied, a little absently; his eyes were following the snow.  
  
“It makes a big difference. All those people, and their - well, most of them still see me as a child, and it gets tiresome. But when you’re with me, it’s better.”  
  
Loran tightened his arms around Mihas to show that he understood, even as he teased him: “Oh, I don’t know. I quite enjoyed hearing about how you stepped on a thousand-year-old heirloom coronet.”  
  
“One fracture. I caused _one_ small fracture, and I got bread and water for dinner for...a fortnight, I think.” Mihas let out an unexpected snort of laughter. “To be fair, it was good bread. Not old or anything.”  
  
“You do always see the bright side of everything. It’s extraordinary.” Loran meant that sincerely; his husband’s ability to find the positives was consistently amazing to him.  
  
“Anyway, I think I’ve had my fill of reminiscences for today. I think it’s time we returned to our room, don’t you?”  
  
Loran nodded as if spellbound. He certainly wasn’t looking at the snow now; his gaze had been drawn in by the promise he saw in Mihas’ eyes when his husband leaned back to speak to him. “I do.”

 

Their wing was empty except for the security guards stationed at the outer entrance. Even knowing that their footsteps were echoing, they shushed each other, giggling, until they were safely inside the bedroom. 

They were still breathless with laughter as they kissed against the door, taking the time to enjoy their bodies being plastered together — a sensation which Loran appreciated for more reasons than one.  
  
A gasp escaped his mouth when Mihas pulled away. It was most likely his imagination, but he thought he could see his breath fogging up the space between them.  
  
He did feel some warmth coming back as he took in the sight of Mihas gazing at him, gorgeous and unabashed. “What is it?”  
  
“I used to think a lot about...you know. Sneaking someone up here.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“It would have taken a superhuman feat, anyway, with the guards and everything, but I didn’t meet many people who would…” Mihas shook his head and momentarily looked away, his cheeks colouring. “I was lonely.”  
  
Though he still seemed perfectly content, Loran couldn’t help feeling a jab of pain at the frank admission. How alone Mihas must have felt growing up as he’d done in this forbidding castle, with the romance and intimacy he craved out of his reach.  
  
How utterly cold and alone he must have felt until Keo had come along to make up for Loran’s mistakes.  
  
“Loran?”  
  
He shook himself free of his guilty thoughts and reached out to bolt the door, taking care not to make too much noise. “How much time do you think we’ve got?” he asked in a low, caressing tone.  
  
Mihas’ eyes lit up in understanding. “Not - not too much,” he answered; a tinge of awkwardness was evident in his demeanour even as he played along. “So we should probably…get right to it.”  
  
“Probably.”  
  
They stripped each other in record time and made it safely onto the bed. The inevitable accident came a little later, when Loran was too quick to unstopper the lubricant bottle. He cried out in disgust as cold liquid ran down his leg and pooled below him.

“Shh, it’s okay. Just come here.” Mihas appeared more amused, or aroused, than anything else, and Loran decided to match his husband’s enthusiasm. He did his best to wipe away the excess with a corner of the bedsheet before he positioned himself above Mihas' body — waiting spread out beneath him and heart-wrenchingly beautiful.  
  
They pressed as close together as possible at first, sharing body heat, until frustration got the better of Mihas and he pushed at Loran’s chest to get more space and motion between them. “I want - ” he began, then let out a loud moan, then another, as Loran slammed into him over and over.  
  
“Sh-h. Someone might hear,” Loran whispered, putting a hand over his mouth — only briefly, and with the gentlest of touches, but it was enough to get him arching and pushing back hard, desperate for release. A few strokes of his cock by the same hand, and he was there, making little effort to be quiet despite the game they were playing. Loran followed him seconds later; he trembled as he plunged forward, muted cries escaping from his open mouth and his eyes shut tight against powerful sensation.

When he came back to himself, he rolled off the bed and strode over to the wardrobe with an odd mix of urgency and reluctance.  
  
“What’s…” Mihas frowned when Loran turned around, his arms laden with their coats. “Is it really that bad? I’m sorry.”  
  
“I’m afraid so, but it’s not your fault.” Once they were securely tangled in each other’s arms and underneath a hefty layer of fur on top of the bedding, and Loran felt significantly less like he was about to become an ice statue, he turned his attentions on his husband. “What are you thinking?” he asked as he pulled the sheets tight around them.  
  
Mihas fell silent for a moment, then looked up, his kiss-swollen lips curling into a smile. “That I’m glad you’re not some stranger who has to leave now.”  
  
Another pang made itself known in the area of Loran’s heart. “So am I.”  
  
“I love you.”

 

\---

“I love you.”

The decision to say it then and there was impulsive, but Mihas had considered it so many times that he felt prepared for any eventuality. He waited, forcing himself to breathe quietly and slowly as he watched Loran’s face.  
  
An indeterminate amount of time passed in silence while they were still wrapped up together, legs still tangled, arms around each other’s bodies, close enough to feel each other’s heartbeats. Eventually, after what felt like hours, Loran showed a reaction: He closed his mouth, which had been slightly ajar, and swallowed hard.  
  
This hadn’t been Mihas’ favourite of the outcomes he’d imagined.  
  
“It’s okay if you don’t,” he said in a rush. “I mean, I don’t need to hear - I wasn’t expecting anything from you. We can carry on as…”  
  
But could they? Now that he’d thrown this at his husband, could they really carry on as before? He’d believed he was prepared; he hadn’t foreseen his heart fluttering painfully and feeling as though there were small tears developing on its surface, growing deeper with each second of silence.  
  
Finally, finally, Loran spoke. “You weren’t expecting anything from me?” he repeated, his voice subdued.  
  
Mihas shrugged in an effort to appear nonchalant. “You don’t have to say it back.” He’d meant to come across as reassuring, but his own voice seemed on the verge of disappearing as well. “We’re married, and we’re happy. Aren’t we?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“That’s all I need.”  
  
Loran’s gaze was fully on Mihas now. His eyes looked troubled, and there was a deep crease between them. “You do always try and make the best of things.”  
  
Mihas didn’t know what to say to that.  
  
“I don’t know if...” Loran swallowed hard again. “If you weren’t as happy with me, what would you have done?”  
  
“I don’t - ”  
  
“We didn’t have a courtship. You might object to my describing it like this, but you just fell into my lap.”  
  
“It’s just the way of the world.” Mihas remembered saying the same words on their wedding night, and he couldn’t help shivering a little at the memory.  
  
“Right. And you were lonely.”  
  
“What are you saying?”  
  
“I could have been anyone.” Loran’s voice was down to a whisper now. “Even if I’d only been...adequate, you would have tried your best to accept it. Even if you had nights where you’d lie awake, wondering how you ended up tied to this stranger.”  
  
Mihas shook his head vehemently as he realised where Loran was going with this. “You didn’t - you didn’t _trick_ me into loving you. I suppose you’re right — I would have tried to find happiness however I could. But it wouldn’t have been the same as what we have.”  
  
“What if you were married to someone else? Would you have waited for me then?” As soon as the words had left Loran’s mouth, he looked away again. “I’m sorry. That’s not a question I should ask.”  
  
Mihas felt his heart break at how ashamed his husband looked. “Luckily, that’s not an issue.”  
  
When a few more long seconds went by with Loran saying nothing, Mihas decided to cut his losses. He didn’t want their evening to end like this, with their relationship ruined by his own hand. He would just have to deal with the emotional fallout in private. “Look at me,” he pleaded softly until Loran met his eyes again. “Can we please forget that I said anything? I promise it won’t be a problem. I don’t want to make things difficult between us, or - ”  
  
“I do love you.”  
  
It was Mihas’ turn to fall silent. He stared at Loran, scarcely daring to breathe or to believe he’d heard what he’d thought he’d heard.  
  
”For ages, I’ve - but I didn’t know if you’d ever truly feel the same, and I didn’t want you to feel obligated to feel the same. That’s not the only way we can be together.”  
  
Taking Loran’s face in his hand, Mihas closed the small gap between them and kissed him. “But I do feel the same.” With each additional kiss, he felt more of his breath coming back, more of his wounds knitting together. “And you know what? I would wait for you. Because I love _you_ , not just ‘my husband’ or my idea of who you should be.”  
  
“Thank you,” Loran said, rather unexpectedly.  
  
“For what?”  
  
“For marrying me. For everything.”  
  
Mihas couldn’t help but laugh; the tenderness in Loran’s eyes and voice was making him feel a bit sheepish, a bit overwhelmed. “I haven’t done that much.”  
  
Loran laughed too, but his expression remained serious as he regarded Mihas. “I think you’ll find you have.”

 

\---

 **Six years later**  
  
_“...Crown Prince Teid of Tremaros, accompanied by his namesake, his grandfather, the former king...”_

Loran frowned and pushed his face into his pillow. He was confused; just a moment previously, he’d been pinned under Mihas on their bed, having convinced his husband that they had time for a quick session before the...  
  
_...ah. The coronation. Right._

Right on cue, Mihas joined him on the bed and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “Good, you’re awake. You missed your father and Teid coming in.”  
  
“I heard.” With a soft groan, Loran raised his head and tried to focus his eyes on the screen in front of him. “Not really what you want to hear as you’re recovering from getting fucked.”  
  
“Recovering? You’ve been asleep for the last 20 minutes.”  
  
“That just means I needed extra time to recover,” Loran retorted, nudging his husband. Mihas’ hair and beard were slightly damp, and he smelled of soap. He must have showered while Loran was asleep. “Why are you dressed?”  
  
Mihas gave him an odd look. “It’s only underwear. And because...well, because it would feel a bit disrespectful to watch this naked.”  
  
“Fair enough.” Loran directed his attention back to the screen. The camera was panning over those gathered in the Old Temple, which he knew faced the castle grounds on one side. He could see the guests attempting to hide grimaces every time cold air from the outside reached their seats; two years previously, he’d spent a large portion of the funeral of King Iles doing the same.  
  
_“Almost all assembled now...”_ the reporter was commentating in a bored sort of way. _“Prince Manhi of Lareto, who recently replaced his late aunt, entering the Temple. There do seem to have been many changes of regime across the world lately. One wonders how the monarchs find the time to attend all of the related ceremonies.”_

“That’s rather insensitive,” Loran murmured. When they’d spoken to Keo last, the whole of Lareto had been in mourning for their sovereign. Mihas only sighed, but Loran knew he was thinking the same. It was just that he found it tiring to discuss work-related matters at home now.  
  
_”Here we see again His Majesty the King Emeritus, King Teid of Tremaros...”_ The camera lingered on Loran’s father and nephew. The latter looked totally enthralled by all he was seeing on his first major state visit; to him, it was an adventure that he’d finally managed at age 22 to extract from the real grown-ups, his father and grandfather, knowing that finding him a spouse was next on their agenda. _“His youngest son, of course, is married to the Marquess of...er...a nephew of the soon-to-be-crowned Queen Ros.”_

Mihas stared at the screen. “Did he forget my na - never mind.”  
  
_“The unsavoury business surrounding that marriage, highly regrettable events which came to light after...”_

“Are you sure this is the only broadcast?”  
  
“Yes. Unfortunately.”

 _“His Royal Highness Crown Prince Sador, his wife Princess Caerisande.”_ Sador looked nervous, from the way he clutched his wife’s hand as they moved toward their seats at the front of the sanctuary. _“One wonders whether his mother’s choice of consort continues to prey on his mind after all this time, even with ample evidence that pretensions to nobility and the associated wealth were not, in fact, one of the reasons for the match.”_

“Could we mute this?”  
  
Loran complied gladly. “Where do they find these reporters?” he wondered out loud.  
  
With a wordless groan, Mihas stretched out on the bed and rolled over to face Loran. “I don’t know, but we’re going to get some complaints from the community here. Why were this network given exclusive rights, and so on, even though we had nothing to do with the decision...I’m sorry, I don’t mean to go on about work. Sometimes I bore even myself with it.”  
  
Loran smiled. He knew Mihas liked the Press Office, really, even if he tried to keep it mostly out of their home life. “It’s all right, I - oh, look, there they are.”  
  
Ros was entering the sanctuary, the former Minister Hairad — now Ula, Princess Consort — by her side. Their jewels glittered in the early sunlight as they walked slowly toward the altar, mindful of the Princess’ steps, and received bows from their closest family members.

The Queen Dowager trailed not far behind them. As she’d done at the funeral, she walked without assistance, although she was accompanied by three attendants who were prepared to catch her if necessary.

Loran shifted himself and Mihas so that they were on lying their sides, his chin resting on Mihas’ shoulder. This new position made it easy for him to press kisses into his husband’s skin during the dull parts of the ceremony, but he desisted when everyone on screen stood and the camera zoomed in on the altar.  
  
They watched intently as Ros stepped onto the stone platform — no small feat with all of her finery — and faced the Chief Priest. They couldn’t hear the priest’s words, but no matter. It was enough to see the crown being lowered onto her head, and then her taking her rightful place on the throne and very deliberately turning her face to give her wife a tender look. It was the most emotion Loran had ever seen her show.  
  
He nuzzled at Mihas’ neck until he turned to kiss him. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ll never be king,” he whispered against his husband’s lips.  
  
“What?” Mihas burst out laughing at his sudden nonsense. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“I won’t have one of those,” Loran replied with fake solemnity, gesturing toward the crown now in focus on screen. “You won’t get to look on while I struggle to not fall over from the weight.”  
  
“It’s just as well. I mean, I’d try and catch you, but I couldn’t guarantee it.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“I don’t mind. I like having you to myself instead of - I believe the phrase is _one with the nation for the remainder of my natural life._ ”  
  
“Really?” Curious, Loran leaned over to switch the audio back on. Ros was repeating the pledge which she’d have made upon her accession, now in the public context of the coronation: “... _shall be one with the nation for the remainder of my natural life._ ”

“See?”  
  
“You’re amazing.”  
  
“Anyway, my point is,” Mihas said, kissing him again, “I’d rather you be one with me.”  
  
“I am.”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again to everyone who’s read and supported this story, and to the wonderful authors of the many arranged marriage stories that inspired me to write this one. I love you all. Yes, including you.


End file.
